


Facets

by ExoticDarkOne



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 09:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 31,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExoticDarkOne/pseuds/ExoticDarkOne
Summary: She loves them, they love her. Each sees something a little different. The same gem, just a different side.





	1. Solas: First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing this a bit differently than usual. First thing you should know is that this Inquisitor is the same person with the same quirks and back story the whole story. However, since I couldn't decide who I wanted her to romance, I've compromised by simply doing all three

Solas is fairly certain that it is a joke. A rather poor one. 

He had heard of the survivor of the Conclave, had all but ran to offer help when he'd heard of the mark on their hand, and here they lay.

A woman, wearing baggy clothes and unconscious, whimpering in pain when the mark - the Anchor - crackled to life. Solas immediately ignored the rest of what the Seeker had been saying and went to work on controlling its spread.

If it killed her it would be lost. No doubt the beast had perversed the foci in his hand until it could no longer be used properly. Solas needed to get his hands on it and begin repairing it before even he could use it.

He rolls the woman over and curses under his breath. A Dalish, Mythal's tree fanning over her forehead. The vallaslin were white, standing starkly against her tanned skin. A poor joke indeed.

So he spent the next three days in the cell with the woman, chanting the old songs and weaving his magic around the Anchor. Occasionally she'd open grey-green eyes and murmur incoherently, but for the most part she remained unconscious. 

Eventually, he is asked to assist the fighting, but as he gets up to leave he turns back to look at her.

And realizes he doesn't want to leave.


	2. Varric: First Meeting

As a business man, Varric has learned a thing or two when it comes to beauty. He can spot which curves and dips are authentic at a glance. So when he sees the woman for tthe first time and his brain immediately tells him masterpiece, he believes it wholeheartedly.

He casts an appreciative eye over her after she closes the rift. All high waist with long, slim legs. The mercenary coat was doing nothing for her, but he can see the willowy form clear as day. Her face a beauty, with fine bone structure, full curved lips, and big eyes.

Which pinned him to the spot when they turned towards him. Pale grey green and hard as any diamond, they were vipers' eyes. Thankfully they are distracted and he can breathe again.

Then they're moving, and it's not a problem at all for him to take the rear point and watch her hips sway with every step.

Oh yes, a masterpiece.


	3. Cullen: First Meeting

When Cullen first sees her, he forgoes his usual cursory glance to actually look at her. The scars on her face told a story. You only got those longways ones from fighting, though he hadn't even a guess at where the one curling along her jawline came from.

He eyes her slim form, but is confident in Cassandra's assessment of her skills. She didn't have a bow across her back now, but something about her is subtly threatening. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up and something is tugging in his mind, but whatever it is he cannot place it.

He blinks when he realizes she's watching him too. Her eyes betray nothing, but the slow arch of a brow portray her thoughts clearly.

In the end, he stops watching her so they can discuss what to do next.

But he doesn't fully relax, and he knows he's not fooling her.


	4. Solas: Mage

She walks about Haven, footsteps light but sure, and as she pokes about and stops to talk, Solas realizes that she will eventually come for him.

He's still debating on if he should hide when she spots him and moves towards him, stopping briefly to neatly trim an elfroot bush.

Then she is before him, and his ears flex uncuncertainly. While they are both elves, it is clear they are of differing varieties. Her head just reaches the top of his shoulder, and he can see the curiosity in the set of her brows, even if her voice is polite.

At least until she asks him about elves, and he responds with disdain towards the Dalish. Towards her, and he hides a wince when he watches those brows pull low over frosting eyes.

"Ir abelas, hahren, but if the Dalish have done you a disservice I would know how we can fix it."

He opens his mouth, then sighs and smiles ruefully. She is right of course, and he tells her so. And then he answers questions he didn't think a Dalish capable of. She asks with genuine curiosity, and he softens somewhat when their conversation moves on to the Fade

It's when they're halfway through a heated debate that was quickly devolving into an argument over whether the study of magical theory could be applied practically in everyday life when he realizes, and he feels childish when he does.

She is a mage.

When confronted, she straightens and both eyebrows rise.

"You couldn't tell?"

Solas shakes his head and she shrugs, before he feels a subtle aura of magic reach out to caress his own. He reaches out and engulfs it, marvelling at the texture, the subtlety and practicality that he has never seen.

At least, not in a millennia.

But she is called away to business before he can bombard her with questions. As she turns to leave, he asks her name

A brow arches curiously, but she answers, "Da'fen."

Little Wolf.

Oh, the irony.


	5. Varric: Mage

Varric watches her lips when she talks. He knows he isn't the only one to do so. They're just so inviting. She doesn't stop talking, but he spots a flash of teeth when she curls a lip to smile, and he shakes it off and actually starts paying attention.

She's asking very pointed and educated questions about red lyrium, and he feels odd when he doesn't have the answers she's looking for. She even asks about normal lyrium and how it affects magic and how templars use it to negate magic, but he doesn't know any more about the normal stuff than the red lyrium.

He watches her sigh, and her face is nearly blank, but her eyebrows are drawn low and her ears twitch in a frustrated manner. He asks her name.

The distraction works, and she glances at him with a quirked brow. It's fascinating how expressive those eyebrows are, and added to the ears you could nearly read her like a book, for all she didn't talk much.

"Da'fen." she tells him.

He asks what it means, and laughs when she tells him.

"I have a friend that goes by the name Fenris. It means Little Wolf too."

She smiles at his little joke and turns to walk away .

"You seem to know a lot about magic." he starts.

She turns back to him, and for the first time he realizes that she's only half a head taller than him.

She tilts her head, and replies, "I wonder why?"

There is a smile there, small and innocuous, but somehow, loaded with intent. Varric's mouth hangs open.

"You can't really be a mage!"

"Oh? Whyever not?" she asks him.

"Don't Dalish drop everything to learn magic?"

"Most do, but surely even you know there is more to a person than appearances."

"I don't know if I can believe that," he says with a smile, "every mage I know I can feel their magic just by walking into the same room."

She giggles, then purses those full lips and blows cool air into his face and walks off without explanation.

It isn't until Cassandra asks him when he colored his hair that he thinks the move isn't as innocent as it seemed.

He pulls a compact mirror he uses to check corners to see that his hair is coal black.


	6. Cullen: Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me. I'd been doing good with the drabbles, and that's probably how this story will stay, but I'm sure there will be some this length or longer as we progress.

Cullen had just peeled his armor off in his tent when someone called from the flap.

The near silent but demanding voice only said, "Commander," but it was enough to get him across his tent and lift the flap.

She is still as the snow on the ground and it unnerves him, but considering she unnerved him anyway, it isn't really a problem. He holds the flap open and she slips inside, pressing close to him to keep the cold out as much as possible

He closes it back and turns to look at her. She's in her new gear, and Harritt did excellent work. Light but tough, she moved easily in it, as it's absolutely vital that a rouge be able to use their agility to its fullest extent.

He invites her to sit on the only seat he has, a low stool, and sits acrosss from her on a small pile of blankets. It's not as cold as it could be, but still uncomfortably cool. He is going to have to find a replacement rune at some point.

She asks him about templars and their abilities, and how those abilities affect magic. If there are ways to counter these abilities or block them altogether. He answers with clear and concise answers, and is finally able to place that uneasy feeling in his head.

"You hide it well." he tells her.

She ducks her head and fiddles with the hem of her sleeve.

"Ah, well, you learn early."

"But to this extent? You'd be stronger with a staff yet you fight without one. Why?"

She is quiet for a moment, chin down and watching him from beneath her lashes. Maker she has pretty eyes.

"Templars ain't the only nightmares I hide from."

He lets that sink in, and decides that he'll wait until she is ready to elaborate. It's a shock to have her answer a question so openly, he doesn't want her falling silent again.

"Did you come here with a reason?" he asks. Surely she knows these simple questions could be answered in daylight.

She pinches her sleeve and rolls it between her fingers, and he can see her biting the inside of her lip. It's an odd sort of realization to learn she fidgets when debating what to say.

Finally, she just blurts it out, her voice quiet but solid despite her discomfort.

"Is it going to be a problem that I practice blood magic?"

His heart beats twice before he reaches to put his hand on the pommel of his sword. It isn't there. He'd removed it to ready for bed, and and glances about to find it...propped up behind her shoulder.

Tension skyrockets as he realizes his mistake, the danger that he's in, but they're both frozen in place, staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly and without breaking eye contact, she reaches behind her to the sword, and hands it across the bedroll. The tent, always roomy and accomodating his size, felt tight and oppressing.

Just as carefully, he takes the sword and lays it at his hip, hand resting on the pommel. He runs his thumb over the end as he thinks.

"When?" he whispers.

"Not often," she admits, "there have been healing emergencies, and I've performed a binding ritual every year for the last twelve years that requires it. I never take a sacrifice, even willing. I pay the price myself.

Her eyes are unwavering, and he feels...appreciative of her honesty. But...

"Binding? As in a demon?"

"A story for another time."

It is in the face of this dodged question that Cullen calls on a long disused skill of his. He struggles to bring it to bear - both from lack of practice and doing it without lyrium - but he manages to reach out and touch her mind. There are walls, as any strong mind has.

She feels his clumsy attempt brush against her, and opens her mind to him, while also reaching out and tethering his tenuous hold. She did not attempt to enter his mind.

She is...daunting to say the least.

Her mind is like a large, deep lake, filled with secrets in its murky bottom. But as soon as he wished to peer into the water of her mind, she cleared the fog.

Singing as she collected herbs, fingers expertly braiding her hair, a warm presence next to her in the form of a long familiar hunting companion.

He briefly touched a memory of slick skin pressed agaisnt hers and flinched away as if burned. She chuckled quietly and sent a silent tug to beckon him back. He did so, blushing and staying far from the memory.

She led him to the memory where she and her hunting companion had been attacked by a bear. It had snapped her partner's spear before sending him sprawling on top of the shattered end.

She glossed over the part where she killed the bear, but he caught a glimpse of her luring it away to a hunter's trap, and focused in on the part where she was healing him.

She was bleeding from the attack, and used the blood to entice her partner's healing to speed. It had taken nearly an hour for her to complete the chant, but she had finally done it

She let him touch the binding ritual briefly, long enough to impress on him that it was important and done to contain something dangerous, then slipped it away from him.

"Another time." she whispered.

She got up to leave, and Cullen noticed his hand was no longer on his sword.


	7. Solas: A Day Together

Solas had just finished washing his face that morning when the knock came. It surprised him; few were up this early.

Da'fen peers up at him through the crack in the door. There's a satchel tossed over her shoulder, and a pair of nugs - gutted and ready for a fire - in the other.

He stands aside and she ducks under his arm, close enough for him to actually feel her aura brush his.

He'd gotten better at noticing it, and is just in the process of learning to recognize it.

Occasionally Da'fen would breeze up to him and pester him until he gave up a story from his travels. She seemed particularly fond of the matchmaking spirit.

"Care for a day in?" she asks. He inclines his head and she stirs a fire up from the embers and spits the nugs.

He peeks inside the satchel. Elfroot. Seems it is a potions lesson today.

"Since it's a slow day, why don't we trade places? Let me ask you a few things."

A brow raises, then she shrugs.

"What would you like to know? "

"Who taught you magic? Yours is...very peculiar."

"I am self taught."

"Why didn't your clan teach you?"

She is silent as they bump elbows at his little table, both grinding the elfroot into a paste.

"I am not of the clan. There was no need."

Solas senses the topic is closed.

"What are some ways you use your magic?"

He knew she layered every step she took with her subtle ways. Haven had soaked much of her magic, even if it was nearly unnoticeable. There were even times he felt her reach her magic out to Haven, but for what purpose he didnt have a guess.

"I can spell a pair of boots to make no sound or a blade that won't lose an edge. I'm fair at healing. Mostly simple things."

He mentions her soaking magic into Haven.

"It's a ward of sorts. I'm not very good with wards so I had to find something to substitute for them. When I pour magic into a place such as this, I can prevent things such as termites that would damage the wood or rust to the hinges and such.

"When I reach for it when I come back, I instantly know if someone fell through a floor or anything like that.

"People can draw on my magic too, even without knowing. If they have minor injuries like sore muscles or a cough, my magic goes to them to heal them. I replace it upon my return."

They sat like that, talking and making potions and poultices for most of the day .

Solas enjoys it, but he's curious to see her magic in action.


	8. Varric: A Day Together

Varric had never seen her idle, so it wasnt really a surprise when she'd swept up to him in a huff, her magic tingling as it settled around her, and simply said to go do something.

He is nimble of fingers and light of step for a dwarf, and he's been put to use. Helping her harvest and hunt.

It was sick to watch her sink a blade into a ram he felled and not only take a hide but meat as well. She rarely even left bones for scavengers, and always took horns.

Then they plucked and snipped at elfroot until he swore his gloves were stained green.

But he couldn't say no. Again and again he tried, then she'd turn and smile at him, showing dimples usually hidden, or her eyes would shine with appreciation of his skill at wielding Bianca.

He couldn't stop his expression from falling, but thankfully she'd turned away.

"Something the matter, Varric?" she asked.

Even in the quiet outside Haven she can dip her voice until she is barely heard.

"It's nothing." he tells her, but he's trying to hide how shaken he is.

She hums, and her magic ripples and he curses silently. He knew better than to get caught in a smile like hers considering his predicament, and he went and encouraged it anyway.

She lets him have the lie, but he can't leave it. He cracks a joke and her eyes soften, but she does not smile.

He curses himself for wishing he had.


	9. Cullen: A Day Together

Cullen feels her step up beside him. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are stormy as she watches the recruits training. Her brows are drawn low in her focus.

She watches him bark orders, nods when the appropriate fix is made, but hones in on one recruit who simply couldn't get his maneuver no matter Cullen's instructions.

Da'fen grumbles before marching to the recruit in particular. Cullen ambles over behind her to listen in.

"What's your name?" she asks, and he stupidly turns to her, wide eyed and slack jawed.

Cullen nods to Gina, the woman partnered with the boy, after she gets in close and dumps him on his rear.

Da'fen glares quickly at Cullen but he is unapologetic, quirking a brow in much the same way she does. She snorts at him the reaches down to offer her hand to the boy.

He takes it gratefully, and Da'fen hauls him to his feet.

She asks his name again.

"G-Geoffrey, your worship."

"Geoffrey you can't get this move because you aren't balanced on your feet correctly. Widen your stance or you'll never get the leverage you need for this move. Or worse, end up in the dirt again. Do it again."

Gina and Geoffrey square up but Da'fen pokes and kicks Geoffrey until he's in position. Then she sidles in close, and lays her feet next to his, one outside his front, the other inside the rear.

"Again." she calls, and Gina closes the gap.

Cullen watches in awe as Geoffrey completes the blocking maneuver. The next time Da'fen calls to repeat the spar, Cullen watches their feet. Indeed the boy had been moving his feet and losing his stance. They do it once more before Da'fen steps away.

"You have to plant your feet for this move to be successful. Continue."

Da'fen and Cullen watch a few more rounds before she nods in approval. Cullen follows her as she walks between the sparring soldiers, correcting stances and grips. He nods at her directives; she knew what she was doing.

One of the recruits challenges her wisdom, but Da'fen holds her hand to silence Cullen's rebuke. She turns to the sparring partner and asks for the use of the sword and shield.

Once armed, she settles into a forward stance. Cullen watches the muscles in her legs bulge.

"Again!" she yells.

Not only did she not budge an inch when he slammed his shield into hers, but she shoved forward and knocked him off balance before hooking a foot behind his ankle and ramming his collarbone with the hilt of her sword.

He went down, and she called him back to his stance before he even caught his breath.

After the fifth time she put him down, he didn't question her. Mostly because he couldn't get up again.

He is not the only recruit to learn his lesson; none challenged her again as she made her rounds, Cullen walking along behind her.

As the sun dropped and Cullen dismissed his troops, Da'fen mentioned that they might have a handful of people trained with two handed swords, for variety and he agreed.

He returns her smile, and wonders again how she got those scars.


	10. Sloas: The Leg

She came to Solas not long after the group struck camp. He watched as she worried at her bottom lip, rolling her weight from one leg to another. She watches as he finishes stowing his bedroll in his tent.

"Hahren?" She asks quietly, eyes darting to where Vivienne and Blackwall were arguing over something.

"Yes, da'len?" Solas asks, pausing to look at her. It was a toss as to whether he was Solas or hahren to her, but he'd come to realize that she had questions when she asked for hahren.

Her face flushes and she looks away quickly. Another quick glance to ensure the others hadn't noticed her, and she let her eyes meet his again.

"I...need your assistance."

Her voice was barely a whisper, and Solas knew enough that she was embarrassed over whatever predicament she had.

"What do you need help with?" He shoved the pack of elfroot back into his tent and turned towards her, giving her his full attention.

He watches her fidget, and suddenly her youth strikes him. It left an odd pang in him.

"I need assistance...bathing."

The silence afterward stretched for several moments, but she waited, and the set of her chin dared him to laugh. He had no intention of doing so; her discomfort made it plain that she actually needed help, and wasn't some trick or attempt at something indecent.

Solas almost asked why she hadn't asked Vivienne, then stopped to think about it. Madam de Fer is a woman of high class, used to being in the center of nobles and politics. Her very essence oozed of refinery and decorum. Da'fen on the other hand, radiated warmth, comfort, and utility. She did not dress to impress, but instead wore things that would withstand the rigors of her travels. Even now there was mud on her boots, and her dark hair had a few leaves snagged in it.

Solas has a feeling she didn't ask Vivienne for fear of being ridiculed for needing help at all. 

He nodded and watched as she sagged in relief. They slipped out of camp unnoticed, and Solas let her lead him to a stream just out of earshot. It pooled nicely in several spots and even sported a waterfall in two of the larger pools. It's one of these that she picks, closed in by a large boulder on one side and a fallen tree on the other.

He observes as she reaches to the stone behind the waterfall and etched a rune into it. A quick touch of his magic let him know it was warming the water. He'd have to learn that sometime. But first...

"What did you need da'len?"

She winces and looks at him apologetically. 

"Ir abelas, hahren. I wouldn't have bothered you if it were possible. I wish I hadn't sent Cassie back to Haven."

He waited patiently while she worried her bottom lip again. He found out not long after meeting her that she did better when not rushed.

"I need help...undressing. Then I need you to stand watch, and help getting dressed when I'm finished."

Her face was red, but also resigned. It's clear she expects to be denied his help.

"Show me what you need." He simply says. He hears her release the breath she'd been holding and she nods gratefully.

She leans on the fallen tree and unhooks her belt, and Solas feels the first hint of a blush at all of this. She shimmer her breeches down to the tops of her boots, then unladen one and pulls her foot out. She looks up from under her lashes then.

"I need you to get the other one."

"Shall I unlace it?" He asks, moving to take her tiny foot in his hand.

"No, just yank on it."

"Are you sure?"

She nods, and he does so with confusion. Confusion that turns quickly to shock when he yanks her whole foot and part of her leg off.

Her leg ends just below the knee, and he can tell it's an old wound. She rubs at it as if it pained her still. He doesn't stop staring until she's unbuttoning her shirt, and then he's looking at everything  _except_ her.

"I need help getting in Solas." She whispers.

He nods and moves to let her clutch at his shoulders, leaning on him. He supports her with one hand gripping the arm nearest his body, the other hooked around her waist. He prides himself on managing to maintain most of her modesty, only catching a glimpse of tanned skin and keeping his hands well to themselves.

Once lowered into the water, he sits on the tree with his back to her. He asks about it, and mentions he'd seen her limp but never imagined that she'd lost the limb. A bear trap, she tells him. Nearly cut clean through, never had a chance at saving it.

He watches the fading sun and knows now why she needed him to stand watch until she was finished; she couldn't run if something - or someone  - stumbled upon her. He feels honored that she'd trust him with her most vulnerable moment, even if he were second to Cassandra. He asks about that 

"Cassie wouldn't care because she knows it doesn't interfere with my work or my fighting. I'd still be a person to her, not some child to be pitied. She's an understanding person under all that hard ass."

Solas chuckles and agrees.


	11. Varric: The Leg

Horrified fascination. That's what he's feeling right now. There were other words too - morbid curiosity - that describes the scene before him. They'd been hunting away from camp when the accident happened because they had to slip far enough away that Cassandra's stomping wouldn't have scared off the game.

Accident. Was it an accident? Bad luck? An enormously bad divine jest that had made Bianca misfire and send a bolt completely through Da'fen's lower left leg?

He remembers her surprised face when he had run up apologizing profusely and demanding she get back to camp for healing. He'd had to grab her by the chin and make her look at the thing before she realized what he was on about. 

Then she'd sat on the ground at his feet _and took her whole damn leg off._ Or most of it anyway. 

Now he's watching as she carefully unlaces the boot and eyes the bolt carefully. After a poke here and prod there, the bolt comes loose. And now that he's aware that she isn't actually hurt, he's devilishly curious.

"Can I see that?"

She grins in that crooked manner that makes his heart melt into a puddle, and pulls the boot off her 'foot'.

It's made of wood, hollowed in the center to support a spring and knob mechanism. The calf and shin connected to the foot on a socket joint, and the spring is stiff enough to support her weight through her jumping around while also leaving enough give not to shatter the whole thing when she lands heavily. At the top is a corset type of fabric that slides up the remains of her leg and laces tight to hold it in place.

"This is a neat piece of engineering." He says, marvelling at it. Bianca would have a fit.

He helps her back into it and laces her boot up for her.

"I want to hear that story one day." He says with a smile.


	12. Cullen: The Leg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all feel free to ask questions or shoot me requests. Just remember to try to find something that will fit all three guys because I update three chapters at a time. Hugs and kisses!

Cullen almost died today.

He and Da'fen had been training in the early morning hours before even the recruits had risen and made their way to the field. He'd just gotten the upper hand and in an instant had stepped on her foot and clipped his shield into her sternum. The look of surprise on her face as she went down had been satisfying...until he looked down and saw her leg bent at an odd angle.

His heartbeat skyrocketed and for a full second he stood there while his brain raced with thoughts.

_Maker, I've broken her, should've taken it easier, she's small, I have to go get the healer, she's gonna be screaming soon, Josephine and Le liana are going to kill me for breaking her..._

In that split second when his muscles bunched in preparation to bolt for the healer she simply said, "Cullen."

He stumbled, actually stumbled, at the firm command in her voice. He dropped to his knees next to her and started babbling nonsense.

Then she started laughing.

The sheer absurdity of it stopped him in his tracks.

She smiled up at him, eyes soft as his hands hovered over her. Neither of them were wearing armor, and the cold was starting to seep into his skin.

"I'm fine, Cullen. But I do need some help. Mind carrying me to your tent?"

Dumbly he shook his head, and gathered her into his arms. He felt the blood drain from his face when the leg just fell off when he lifted her.

"You can come back for it." She promised, eyes twinkling at his discomfort. 

He gets her inside the tent and carefully sits her on his stool before ducking back out to retrieve the leg. He nearly faints when he feels something inside, but calms significantly when he sees wood and metal filling the inside of the boot.

He pauses when he slips back into the tent and closes the flap behind him. She has her breeches rolled up to bare the ruined skin of her leg, and she's rubbing it as if it pained her. He moves to sit in the floor across from her, laying her false leg withing her reach.

Impulse takes him and his sanity.

"May I?" he asks quietly.

She nods and he scoots closer, hesitating before reaching out to ghost his fingers over the ruined skin. The scar is old and healed, though part of the skin around it is discolored. He traces the thick, ropey while line and the dots where the stitches had once held the skin together.

"Maker's breath, what happened?"

"Tir'alas and I were on our way home from hunting one evening and I stepped in a bear trap. He has never had an afinity for healing. He just did get the blood stopped before he had to drag me all the way back to the clan. Even then, there wasn't a healer there that could save it."

Cullen knew everything as if he'd been there. Heard her piercing scream, saw the blood gush over the trap as she crumpled to the forest floor. Tir'alas, a faceless shadow trying desperately to stop the blood before picking her up and hauling her to the healers only to find that there was only one option left to save her life.

Cullen hadn't even recalled reaching hmfor her mind, but she hadn't evaded him. He belatedly recalls himself.

"And no, this doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you in training."

She sniffs with disdain, but the curl of her lip gives her away.

A few minutes later, after he has dressed and joined his troops, Cassandra catches his eye. She lifts a brow and flicks her eyes behind him. He turns to see Da'fen - obviously having just left his tent - stop and adjust the straps of her boot.

Cullen blushes up to his hairline and dares the Seeker to say anything, but all she does is hide a smile behind her hand.


	13. Solas: Skin

Potions is something she reserves for Solas. She spends a significant amount of time collecting various plants as they travel. And when they need potions, or she simply can't fit anymore in her satchel, she comes to him, and they spend a whole day brewing potions. 

He marvels over her hands, fingers nimbly trimming and sorting the plants before her. Some were deftly tied in bunches and hung on the mantle to dry. Others found their way into the mortar, where those slim fingers ground them into thick paste.

Her palms were heavily calloused. No easy trail for this one. Try as he might, Solas couldn't place her favored weapon just by looking at them. It piqued his curiosity further. How many weapons was she trained in? No matter the number, she had to be proficient in all.

But it was the moments that she rolled her sleeves up and bared her forearms that sent a thrill down his spine. He'd watch the pulse beat at her wrist, watch it slow and steady or race with her thoughts, and it is a regular occurance that he has to stop himself from fitting his lips over that pulse, taste the skin over it, and see just how far up she'd let him go.

Then he'd see those eyes watching him curiously, blush creeping over her cheeks, and he'd cough before turning away, blush on his own face and ears tight.

Though, he didn't miss the curve of her lip when she ducked her head.


	14. Varric: Skin

Varric is a big fan of the simple cotton clothes she wears around Haven. Tight enough to be a second skin, they defined all those subtle dips and curves he wished to trace with his fingers instead of his eyes.

Once he'd walked by her tent and glimpsed the smooth expanse of her back between fabrics, had seen it dusted with scars and freckles, and even though he had kept walking to preserve both their dignities, the image had haunted him.

Ever since he'd been trying to think of a way to glimpse that skin again. The way he did that wasn't even his own idea. 

It was no secret that Da'fen is fond of children. Watching her braid hair or kiss scrapes better was one of the things that he simply loved watching her do. It twisted something in him when she sent them running off to play again before looking back over her shoulder and dimpling at him.

So it hadn't been suspicious when one of the children practicing with a toy bow had asked her to retrieve an arrow embedded in the side of her cabin that was too high for him to reach.

Varric had watched her stand on tiptoe and reach high over her head, and Andraste preserve him he was almost floored when that skin tight shirt slipped up to reveal a strip of skin just above her hips.

So now every once in a while, he'll ask her to grab something for him and watch her stretch to reach it, and he let his eyes map what his fingers wished they could.


	15. Cullen: Skin

Cullen is beginning to get fond of these early morning warm up bouts with Da'fen. Before either of them were busy signing this or yelling that, tromping through the snow to get things done, she came to sit and talk over a cup of tea. Then they'd spend another hour or so tossing each other around. 

Today is like any other. In the wee hours of the morning, he hears her call his name from outside the tent and he smiles before calling back to her. She slips in, and he holds out her favored cup when she settles.

They speak of simple things; how the people fared, did the soldiers need anything, opinions on the group of oddballs she was collecting. 

 

The finish their tea and move outside. As they begin their mock battle, Cullen wonders at whether they should be wearing armor. All he has on is a padded jerkin and breeches,  feet tucked into boots. She was dressed much the same, though the large breezy shirt she had on allowed her a greater range of motion.

But they didn't really need the armor for these fights. Any time either of them got close, they'd flick the blade away or turn it so the flat of the blade hit instead. 

And besides, that shirt mesmerised him. He was certain it had been in his trunk before, but he is a gentleman and never accuses her of stealing his clothes, and it is a pleasure to watch her arm snake out of the sleeve, showing scars there as well, or watch it bunch up as she rolled to dodge, baring her abdomen. Or how he could see her skin glisten on her collarbone when she closed in tight.

And after they were finished and he held the tent flap open for her, he'd watch the curve of her neck to the bared shoulder, the shirt having skewed to one side during their warm up. 

He was starting to wish he could count those freckles on her skin.


	16. Solas: Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters will be a little longer, simply due to fight scenes

To be fair, it was entirely his fault.

Da'fen had been accepting of his ways and beliefs, but even she had her limits. He apparently found it when he'd made a condescending comment about a certain herbalist in the last village and she'd spun around on her feet and hit him with a slap loud enough to stop both Varric and Cassandra in their tracks. The slap was a shock. But Solas was more surprised at Da'fen's face. She was red all the way out to her ears, fists balled and shaking, and she was absolutely  _infuriated._

"How dare you?" she accuses venomously. "That young man is doing what he can. He struggles every day to better himself so he can help people, and the only words you have for him are to jest at him because his Creator's forsaken magic isn't stonger?"

Solas recovers and subtly draws to his full height. "All I did was point out that a village that size needed someone better trained to do the job. Inexperience like that from a person...slower than normal isn't helping anyone."

Da'fen's eyes flash like lightening. "You dare judge someone for something out of their control? Your arrogance knows no bounds,  _Solas._ Since you couldn't be bothered to converse with people who aren't worth your time, I'll inform you that that young man is the only person in that village even capable of being a healer!"

Solas had never been good at keeping his cool. Had never cared for the consequences of his words. 

He should have shut his mouth.

"Maybe if mages were free to practice magic they'd be more proficient at it. Even you aren't as strong as you would have been if you'd had a teacher."

There is a heartbeat of silence, then Da'fen's voice utters low in the late afternoon sun.

"You want to see magic? Fine."

Solas' eyes widen as wild magic begins to crackle around her like lightening. Her mana battered against his aura, like an ocean to a stone. He felt it coil like a tsunami, but he couldn't dodge the massive wall of sheer mana she threw at him. It hit him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and driving him backwards. An errant tree root sent him sprawling. He managed to roll at the last second, and came up with his staff in his hand just in time to block another wave of mana.

 _"She's not even using a staff!"_ he thinks to himself, bewildered at her show of power and also furious at her attack.

He uses a split second opening to cover her in ice, but almost immediately she glows white hot and it explodes outwards, sending shards of ice flying. One cuts his cheek, but he can't stop to heal himself. She's marching towards him, alternating between blasting mana at him and throwing fireballs from her hands. His dumbfounded surprise at her abilities is nearly his undoing. Watching her cast spell after spell on top of hitting him with mana alone should have her exhausted to the point of passing out. But she didn't even seem to be tiring. Any spell he managed to use was either blocked with a dismissive wave of her hand or absorbed into her shield. 

Then she stopped toying with him.

He feels her mana charge again, and just barely gets a barrier in place before he was caged in lightening. Normally the spell would dissipate with time, but he could feel her feeding the current with her endless mana...and she was shrinking the cage.

It coiled tighter and tighter around him, forcing him to make his barrier smaller and smaller. Any time a crackle of lightning touched the barrier, it sent a crack across the surface, and Solas knew his barrier would shatter like glass if too many cracks got to it. Da'fen's onslaught didn't end until he was kneeling, bent so low his face was almost in the dirt. The silence following her attack was deafening, making his ears ring. He only heard his own labored breathing.

Then there was a hand under his chin, gently tilting his face upwards. The eyes that caught his were no longer enraged. They were sad, and pitying. And seemed a millenia old.

"You judge people too soon, Solas. You base your accusations only on what you see. You think yourself better than those who did not get a choice. You think you know what the world needs. You do not. Age should have shown you patience, but you are as brash and reckless as any child. Beware, or one day you'll pull the tail of something that's going to  _force_ your humility."

He swore her eyes looked right to his soul, and her words sent ice through his veins. The vague prophetic warning reminded him of Mythal. The mortal before him is just as caring, just as wise, and she saw through his scholarly sham with ease. He bent his head and pressed his lips to her palm.

"Ir abelas, ma falon."

Magic washed over him like cool rain, healing him and restoring his mana. He feels a tug at his cheek and knows that she's left it to scar. 

A reminder.


	17. Varric: Magic

"We have to get out of here!" Varric shouts over the din of the fight before dodging a blow and loading a leaping shot to put some distance between him and the bandit.

"We are  _not_ leaving Da'fen!" came Cassandra's shouted reply. 

She had already been dropped into the dirt, and when he glimpsed her he could see that she was barely conscious, groping blindly at the ground around her. Vivienne had run to her aid, only to take a blow from the same brute that had dropped Da'fen. She hadn't fared as well, and had immediately blacked out.

Cassandra is dealing with two opponents at once now, and Varric is still wildly dodging the opposing archer he'd closed with. Another worried glance at Da'fen is enough opening for the archer to smack Varric across the back with his bow and the dwarf went sprawling with a curse. He stays still, hoping that the archer will think him out for the count. Oldest trick in the book, but it worked. The archer takes aim at Cassandra just as movement catches Varric's eye. Da'fen had risen to her knees with a snarl, and had Vivienne's staff in her hands. She slams the butt of the staff into the ground, and bolts of lightening crackle to life, strong enough to completely fry the archer and stagger the two brutes circling Cassandra. The Seeker does not waste the opportunity. She steps in close with the bandit on her left and bashes him with her shield before putting her blade through his gut. 

Cassandra blocks a blow from the second brute just as Da'fen casts her next spell, bringing Vivienne awake once more, before healing the whole troop and casting a barrier on all of them. Varric watches her toss Vivienne her staff before darting to Cassandra's opponent. With him solely focused on the Seeker, it was nothing for her to dance into range and shove her blades into his kidneys. He grunts and drops to his knees, and Cassandra finishes him off.

They take a few minutes to catch their breath, with Da'fen taking her usual head count before dropping to do the dirty work of cutting throats and search pockets. Varric watches as if he'd never seen her before. 

"You know, Varric, someone might say you're sleeping on the job over there." Da'fen says while shooting him a quick smile.

He pushes up to his feet and makes his way over to her.

"How'd you do that just now?" he asks.

She snorts. "Come now, it's no secret that I'm a mage. Why so surprised?"

Varric sees Vivienne step closer in his peripheral vision, and even Cassandra turns so she can pay attention.

"Well, you never use magic so I thought..." he couldn't bring himself to finish, too embarrassed by his folly.

"You knew I had magic, but since I don't prance around with a staff you thought I was completely inept at the skill."

He winces at the bluntness of her words. He lets that hang for a second then decides to change the topic.

"Why not use your magic more often? An extra healer would come in handy."

"Then who'd open all those pesky locked doors and chests?"

She looked up at him with a grin, one eyebrow raised playfully. He relaxes at the sight and can't resist smiling back.

"Well, I didn't get my title of Charming Rogue with just the 'charming' part, you know." he says.

She pauses in her searching, and tilts her head. After a moment she tells him, "I'll consider it."


	18. Cullen: Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'fen has been a mage the whole time. But for safety, she's always traveled as a rogue. These three chapters encompass her decision to start using her magic more often.

Cullen watches Iron Bull trounce Blackwall and three others in the sparring ring with approval. Da'fen is at his elbow, propped up and humming as she watches the fight. He knows she's enjoying it. She'd confessed that she wanted to boot Blackwall out of Haven completely after he made a passing comment on her not being able to handle fighting men or leading troops because one, she was an elf, and two, because she was a woman. Cullen is surprised she hasn't outright smeared the Wardens' face in the dirt, but he knows there are plenty of soldiers willing to disagree on her behalf, himself included. She'd never done such warfare before, but she learned quickly and had an eye for mischief.

"Are you getting in the ring today, your worship?" 

He knows she prefers him to use her name, but he's too well-bred to be so informal in public.

"I might see if Bull is up for another round. He's never stabbed me at least."

She's referring to when Blackwall had nicked her while they were sparring. From then on, Da'fen hadn't stepped into a ring without armor on. At the moment she's wearing that loose white shirt she favors for their morning bouts. Cullen hums in agreement.

The Iron Bull had been steadily gaining ground during their quiet conversation, and now thrown his last opponent - who happened to have been Blackwall - completely out of the ring. A cheer rises up from the onlookers and Da'fen calls out to Bull for a round. He accepts with a yell, and she slips into the ring and makes her way to a nearby rack to choose her practice weapons. Soldiers make way as Cullen follows on the other side of the fence.

"If I may make a suggestion, your worship?"

She quirks a brow as Iron Bull steps up behind her shoulder, hefting his battleaxe over one shoulder.

"Perhaps a staff today?"

She blinks in surprise; she hadn't thought he'd suggest that.

"That's not a bad idea boss." Bull chimes in. "I can feel your magic, but I haven't actually seen you use it before. It'd be nice to get a feel of your style. I don't know if I can do that from the front though. Why not go a round with Cullen instead?"

Soldiers within earshot send up their own agreement in a shout, and Cullen has to raise his own voice to calm the crowd before quirking a brow at Da'fen with a grin. They're both well aware the only reason the idea had so much appeal is because the men haven't seen them practicing together.

"I don't know," she confesses quietly, glancing about her. Cullen leans forward a bit.

"You are safe here, Da'fen."

She must have seen something in his face, because Da'fen smiles up at him, giving Cullen a rare show of dimples.

"Alright, Commander. You're on."

The crowd hushed when Bull left the ring, then became almost deafening when Cullen took his place. Da'fen selected an adept lightning staff from the rack and walked out to face him, spinning it expertly in her palm.

"Sure you up for this, Commander? I'm not your average mage you know."

He smirks at her taunt and bangs his sword against his shield twice in invitation. She didn't hesitate to accept. She peppered him with basic staff blows, presumably checking his blocking or to see if he'd try a templar trick on her, but he waited. Her smirk gave her away as she kicked the end of the staff out towards him. He couldn't see anything, but he could  _feel_ magic closing in on him, could feel something rumbling beneath the ground. Cullen muttered a verse in an attempt to disspell her incantation, but the magic just kept coming. His eyes widen as he realizes it's not an incantation, and jumps to the side just as thick, mangled roots break the surface of the dirt, curling in an attempt to immobilize him. He raises an eyebrow at her in question, and she waggles hers in return.

_Not your average mage._

Her words ring in his head and with chagrin he realizes she's skilled at nonverbal magic. Well, that is...refreshing. A real challenge. Possibly the best course of action is to relieve her of her staff. He attempts to close the distance twice, but she fade steps away both times, and Cullen has ideas racing through his head. One strikes him as particularly odd, which would be perfect if he could do it right, and incredibly reckless considering if he fails she'll have him. He probably wouldn't be considering this idea at all if he were in his plate. As he's just in his padded leather jerkin, he thinks it will work.

He advances just to the point of where she would fade step away and  _throws_ his shield at her, and Cullen is right behind it. It startles her enough to actually hit her in the chest and she stumbles. Cullen closes the gap and jerks the staff from her, tossing it to the ground. He glances at his shield, determines it's too far to reach, then throws himself after Da'fen, who had immediately gone for her staff. They tussle long enough for Da'fen to jab a bony elbow into his ribs as he reaches past her to slam the globe of her staff with the hilt of his sword, shattering it and rendering it useless to her.

He feels her magic flare and just barely braces himself when she hits him with something forceful, throwing him off of her and sending him skidding. He rolls as she rises to her knees and runs for his shield, snatching it up and turning to face her just as another blow of sheer force hits him. He skids back maybe a foot, his shield having deflected most of the blow. 

"Care to call it quits, milady?" Blackwall calls from the side of the ring. Da'fen rolls her eyes before smirking at Cullen.

"I already told you," she calls out to Blackwall, "I ain't your average mage!"

She balls both hands into fists and knocks her knuckles together, and Cullen watches in fascination as raw mana forms over her fists and makes a glove of magic all the way to her elbow. He feels a bit of magic trail to her feet and then she's bolting across the ring straight at him, magic enhancing her speed. He shoves his blade forward as she closes with him, but she jumps and twirls to the left, and time slows as she twists over his blade, edge slicing a lock of hair from her in the process. He realizes his mistake just as one of her fists makes contact with the ribs on his exposed side. A short gust of air ensures he isn't winded, then he twists on his feet towards her and slams her with the shield again, immediately following it up with a slice from his blade. He's learned his lesson, and though it's more difficult, he does it from right to left.

She brings both arms up in front of her face to block and the sword clangs loudly against her mana. He maintains the onslaught as he mutters verses under his breath. He can't fight forever, but he knows just how deep her reservoir of magic delves. He has to finish this now. Finally, he finds one that dispells her wild magic altogether, and strikes her with the shield square in the chest. She stumbles against the railing where he'd driven her, and he darts in to lay the edge of his blade on her throat. 

The crowd explodes into roars as Da'fen nods, and they take a moment to catch their breath.

Blackwall makes his way over and stupidly mentions something about her loss.

It's Cullen that corrects him.

"Actually, she let me win."

Blackwall blinks slowly. "I was watching the whole time, Commander. You won fair and square."

"Obviously you don't know much about Da'fen." Bull interrupts, having shoved his bulk up to the railing where they stood.

"Sweet Maker, what are you going on about?" Blackwall asks, looking between the three of them.

Cullen smiles as he offers to walk Da'fen back to her cabin.

"You didn't know? She keeps half a dozen knives on her person at all times."

He walks away with Da'fen on his arm, leaving Blackwall to realize his mistake.


	19. Solas: Therinfal

Solas had had no intention of trailing after Da'fen as she went prancing after the templars at Therinfal. Hadn't even packed his things when she said they were leaving out the next morning. He thought he'd made his opinion of the matter clear. He'd never understand how a mage would openly choose to side with templars of all creatures. She had given him that infuriating look -  _I know something you don't know -_ and told him to be ready. He'd stubbornly refused to do so.

So naturally, it was a complete shock when the door of his cabin banged open in the wee hours of the morning, cold and snow chasing in. He'd flown up from the bed and was reaching for his staff before he realized that it was Da'fen, expertly grabbing his necessities and packing them swiftly in his leather satchel, and even throwing a few extra lyrium potions inside. She threw his clothes at him and told him to get dressed.

He had smirked at her blush but refused to get dressed, crossing his arms over his bare chest and tilting his weight on one foot as she often did, daring her to do anything about it. She did. She smacked him hard enough to distract him and before he knew it she had wrestled him into his clothes, grabbed his satchel, and dragged him out the door by one of his sensitive ears to where Iron Bull and Varric waited, already packed and in the saddle. Both were smiling knowingly. Solas frowned disapprovingly at both of them, before taking his satchel from Da'fen - who had been trying to heft it up onto the hart and tie it down - and shooing her to her own mount and tying it down himself and hopping up into the saddle. A quick warmth spell, and they were off.

Now they battle abominations consumed by red lyrium, and Solas finds himself once more surprised and impressed. Sir Barris is a dutiful man, remembering the principles the templars were founded on, and taking the initiative to fight his superiors to keep those principles. He never flinched at either Solas' or Da'fen's staffs, never looked at them with suspicious eyes, turned his back to them readily. Solas had met few templars like him. It's like he actually saw them as people and not just mages. It's almost disconcerting.

The only plus side to this is that this is the first time Solas has seen Da'fen in combat with a staff and she's absolutely magnificent. He has no idea how her mana is so large, but she casts her spells with ease, and even transfers some mana to Solas when he runs out. He wishes he had time to study it; it feels strange. There's an underlying imprint in the mana that doesn't quite fit with the rest, like a sheen of oil on water. It's almost as if part of her mana isn't hers at all. 

Deeper into the castle they fight, clearing out the red templars and saving the ones that could still be redeemed. Solas is prepared to be sneered at, but most of these men and women are relieved when they hear Da'fen has come, and enraged at their own superiors when Sir Barris tells them what's going on. It has him a little unsettled. He'd always had one opinion of templars, but none of these people were fitting it. They finally make their way to the last chamber, and Solas sees a man in templar garb blocking the door. 

"Lord Seeker?" Sir Barris whispers under his breath. 

Something feels off as they approach, and Solas is just about to call Da'fen away from the man when he turned to face them and grabbed her by the shoulder hard enough to bruise her. Solas felt something ripple across her aura, and then Da'fen's mana swells. He's shocked when he feels her focus it at herself, at her head, and realizes something is fighting for her mind.

"No!" he shouts when Iron Bull reaches for her. "Do not touch her! Back up, and be ready to attack. Her, if necessary."

Shock on all their faces, but before any of them could say anything, Da'fen's mana releases, and the Lord Seeker staggers away from her before he bursts outwards, blood and gore splattering the stones. In his place, dripping pieces of the corpse, is a massive and hideous demon. It screeches horribly before fleeing deeper inside the fortress, Da'fen at its heels with a shout. Templars already inside shout when they see the demon, but it doesn't stop to fight. It throws up a barrier strong enough to knock a full plated templar onto his back with a touch. Da'fen is at the man's side immediately, hauling him to his feet and asking if he's hurt. He says no, but Solas can feel her reach out with her aura to all the templars, rejuvenating all and healing those who were hurt. Solas watches as helmeted men and women turn at the touch of magic, but all they offer is a 'thank you, milady'.

Solas tries to catch Da'fen's attention, but she's helping Sir Barris rally troops and make plans to retrieve the lieutenants and what's left of the good lyrium and doesn't notice him. He watches as she makes her way to one of the doors on the side of the hall, and moves quickly. If she gets through it there won't be any time left. He elbows between Iron Bull and Varric and lengthens his stride to overtake her. He reaches out just as she pulls open the door and slams it shut again, leaving the hand there to enclose her with his body. He can feel the tension radiating off of the others as he stares her down, but he ignores them.

"I felt what that thing did, Da'fen. Ler me." he says. She blinks, then nods slowly. 

Solas brings his hands up to cup her face and reaches into her mind with his magic. He twirls through the expanse of her mind like leaves in a breeze, following the trail the demon left in her mind and healing the imprints, ferreting out anything it left behind that might become a problem later. Da'fen sags in relief as he does so, not realizing what had happened. Solas knew most of it would have healed on its own with time, but she would have been left more susceptible to other demons if he had left it. 

When he was finished, and with his body blocking the sight of the others, he traces his thumb over her lips before releasing her and opening the door again. She looks at him one final time before stepping through, and this time, he follows gladly.


	20. Varric: Therinfal

It's a quiet trip back to Haven. Even Varric isn't inclined to do much chatting. They plod along on their mounts, the late afternoon air warning of a chill night. Eventually, as the sun starts to dip, Da'fen calls to make camp. Silence is still settled over the camp as they pitch tents and bring a fire to life. Blackwall and Vivienne retire almost immediately. Varric sneaks off to relieve himself and finds a stream to wash his face in. He sits there for a few minutes, an ache of exhaustion settling deep into his body. The horrors of Therifal are fresh, and it brings up painful memories of the last time he had to deal with red lyrium. He spends longer at the stream than he means to, and it's full dark when he finally returns to camp. He's almost to his tent when he realizes Da'fen is still sitting at the fire. 

She's unnaturally still, and she's staring into the flames. Varric steps closer and calls her name. He has to call it twice more before she blinks and looks at him. "Varric." she says, rubbing her face tiredly.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, stepping close enough to put his hand on her back. He rubs back and forth and it lulls some relief into her.

"Yeah, just...thinking." she replies softly before humming and closing her eyes. Varric's lip quirks a bit and he rubs her back for a few more minutes. A yawn gives him away.

"Get some rest, Varric." she chides in a voice barely louder than a whisper. 

"What about you?" he asks. She hadn't made to move to do the same. There shouldn't be a need to stand watch. They're still close to Therinfal, and the despair of the place has kept even wildlife away. 

"I can't. Not yet."

"You're as exhausted as I am, surely you can-"

"That's not it, Varric." she says, interrupting him and then glancing towards him. She has to look up to see him from here. "The demon...I had to fight it out of my head. It'll heal, but until it does I'm vulnerable. I won't be able to sleep until we get back to Haven, or I might slip into the Fade and not make it back out."

Varric's heart skips a beat, and his hand pauses in its motion as he thinks. The Fade is the one place he cannot follow her. Cannot share in her dreams.

"Is there anything that can help?" he asks.

"Not usually. It's been a few years since I needed it, but Tir'alas would sleep with me and wake me if I started having nightmares. Other than that, nothing worked."

Varric hesitates, then says, "Why don't you stay with me tonight? You need rest after that fight. After that you can do whatever, but we really need you in case we meet bandits on the road tomorrow."

She's quiet for a few minutes, then whispers, "Are you sure?"

"C'mon." he replies, and takes her hand to pull her to her feet. She lets him lead her to his tent where he gives her a shirt to sleep in and turns away for her to change. When he's stripped down to his smalls, he slips under the blanket with her, and instinctively reaches to pull her warmth closer. He covers his lapse by rubbing her back, and stays awake until she's fallen asleep.


	21. Cullen: Therinfal

Cullen found her at the pier down by the frozen lake. She's hugging herself, her chin atop her knees, eyes on the Breach. He lays the blanket he brought with him over her before sitting down next to her and watching with her. The lights were so pretty at night, despite it being a giant hole between worlds. After a few minutes, her voice breaks the silence. 

"We're making the attempt tomorrow."

He hums before replying, "Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

He nods. "I think we all are, a little. But we're closer than we've ever been at fixing this mess. And it's all thanks to you."

"What if I can't close it?"

"Then we try to find something else."

"What if it kills me?"

That threw him off for a moment, but he supposes it's only natural that she'd think such a thing. 

"I think if it tried it would lose." he said with a smile. "A lot of things have tried to kill you recently. Remember Cassandra? She wanted you dead too, and you turned that around until you're actually friends."

Da'fen giggles quietly at his joke. He reaches over to brush her hair from her face, and she turns to look up at him with those grey-green eyes. He returns her gaze and says, "No matter what happens, we all have faith in you. You've led us this far, and your path has not led us astray. I understand you're worried, but strangely, I'm not. But I'll be right there with you, and if you get pulled into another rift, I'll jump in and drag you back out."

She dimples at him, and it makes him smile. A gust of wind slips into his shirt and he shivers.

"Aren't you cold? Here."

Before he could respond she'd thrown the blanket over them both and pressed against his side. Hesitantly, he shifts until he can get an arm around her and pull her closer. He feels her turn to press her face into his chest and breathe deep, and when she exhales he feels her finally relax completely. 

They sit like that for a while, just watching the lights.


	22. Solas: Haven

The fire that separated them wouldn't have stopped him from going to her. Burns were nothing to him, if he could only get a hold of her once more. If he could reach her then they could make it. But he sees her reach out, and blasts him back with mana just in time to save him. The monster - is it really an archdemon? - would have crushed him under its weight to get to her. So like her to think of others even as she stumbled to her feet and backed away from nipping teeth as long as her arm.

"Get out of here!" she shouts, and finally, he does. It takes him barely a few moments to join the others, and he's not the only one to look back with wide eyes. 

The archdemon breathes deep, a wet, sucking sound that's enough to make Solas sick, and the fire that spews from its mouth drips like black tar around its teeth. Da'fen is in her stance, hands pressed flat together with fingers aimed towards the flames, creating a skin tight barrier of mana. Solas remembers asking why she lays her barriers on the skin like a poultice, and remembers the sun dappling her hair as she replied that it conserves mana better than the sphere taught most everywhere else. Solas' blood runs cold when he sees the hulking figure of Corypheus approach her. 

He stops in his tracks, and the sight of her staring down both the rampant dragon and the mad magister is forever seared into his mind.

People are running around him, voices shout, and before he has a chance to do anything stupid, someone has him by the arm and is hauling him away. For the next few moments, he doesn't see anything. But as he crests the mountain, before the path trailed down into a cave, he saw the flare. The signal that they all got out. In that second, everyone paused and held their breath. 

One...

Two...

What's happening?

Three...

Did Corypheus kill Da'fen?

Four...

The explosion makes the ground under Solas' feet tremble violently. Many people near him stumble, a few fall outright. Solas is already racing for the edge of the cliff, eyes tracking the avalanche as it stampedes towards the burning village. The dragon is already gone. He tries desperately to make out Da'fen's form, to see her break through the snow and be okay. But she doesn't. 

Eventually, someone pulls him away, and his feet join the others in dragging down the path, the same thing on all their minds.

What was going to happen now?


	23. Varric: Haven

Varric is empty inside. 

That's how he feels anyway. 

He sits on a crate, Bianca on his lap, and this time, the crossbow isn't a comfort to him. He rubs his eyes tiredly. They had marched all night and most of the next day, just hoping to put some distance between the people and whatever lay behind them. Now though, no one can muster the energy to keep moving. Memories flash behind his closed eyes.

Watching her stride through the village like she owned it. Her leaning out the window of her cabin to smirk at him early in the mornings. Watching with utmost satisfaction when she dragged Solas around by his ear. 

"I would ask if you are alright, but I am not alright either, so would you like me to ask something else?"

He peeks from behind his fingers. Cassandra stood nearby, shuffling her feet as if uncertain what to do.

"Damn, Seeker, that was almost a joke. I should be asking if you're okay."

She huffs a humorless laugh and sits next to him, and for several minutes they sit in the quiet, neither actually needing to talk but both needing company all the same. 

They may have sat there until the sun set, if not for the disturbance in the air that had both of them on their feet in the same breath, eyes zeroed in on the mountains in the direction from which they came.

"Cassandra, tell me I didn't just imagine that-"

A crash of pots nearby distracts him. It's Sera, tripping over various things in her pursuit to run up to him, eyes wide.

"Did anyone else feel that, yeah?" she asks, visibly shaken.

Solas materializes near silently, and he too looked excited and shaken.

"I would guess that all of you felt that just now?"

All three nod tersely. 

Solas says what none have dared hope for.

"That was Da'fen closing a rift! She's still alive!"

In a heartbeat Varric is running, Cassandra at his side, both of them pelting for the head of the procession.

"CULLEN!"

"CURLY!"

Their shouts ring out simultaneously, and for once, Varric was glad he and the Seeker were on the same page for once.


	24. Cullen: Haven

The land around them was a monochrome of grey. Memories of the Ferelden circle float in the air around him, but he presses on, leading where others would only follow. He is glad for the quiet of the group that volunteered to join him in the search. He doesn't think he can form words around the lump in his throat.

The memory of Cassandra running up to him, Varric and Iron Bull at her heels, to tell him that they felt a rift close, that Da'fen is still alive.

Hope had swelled until he almost lost any composure he had after watching that avalanche bury Haven. 

He had put together a team and they had set out immediately. Now they search the snow dusted mountain path they crossed through last night, and not even the wagon tracks were still visible. It's going to be hard to find Da'fen in this place. 

Cullen sends a quick prayer asking for guidance, and as he does a wolf howls nearby. It's enough to pique his curiosity, and he moves towards the howl. They play this game for almost half a mile before Cullen has the chance to think that he's being foolish. But before anyone can call him on it, Cassandra raises up a shout, strong enough to hear over the low whine of the wind.

"THERE SHE IS!"

Cullen is first to reach the dark blot of color in that landscape of grey, and he swears to himself that his heart stutters when she realizes it's him and practically beams at him. She's got bruises on her face, her hair is a tangled mess about her shoulders, she shivering and hobbling with a makeshift cane, her prosthetic leg gone completely, but in that moment, those dimples are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She slips on a hidden patch of ice, but he's there before she falls. He props her up long enough to unbutton his cloak before wrapping her in it and hauling her into his arms. Cassandra is there, asking Da'fen if she's alright and reaching to grasp the fingers her friend profers to ease her worry. Cullen does a once over as the troops start falling in, and once he's sure she's alright, he's moving swiftly back towards the camp. Cassandra takes command of half the men and leads them into a full charge back to camp to get a bed and healer ready for Da'fen's arrival.

The troops left to Cullen fan out and ensure the way is clear. Cullen easily maintains his stride, even with Da'fen curled in his arms. He casts an eye to check that none of the troops are watching before bending his head to lay a cheek on Da'fen's forehead. 

"Maker, I thought I'd lost you." he whispers. 

She's drifting off to sleep, but before she does she reaches up to pat his cheek. He turns just enough to press his lips to her fingers. He watches as she drifts off to sleep with a smile.


	25. Solas: Skyhold

In the scant few weeks they've been at Skyhold, the castle is radiant. He doesn't mean the steady cleaning of debris and adding of decorations, but the fact that the castle almost felt alive...and it absolutely adored Da'fen. She poured her mana into the stones with every step, ran her hands over the walls, caught her breath in awe of the mountains as she walked the ramparts. The garden flourished under her practiced gaze, and her decorations - a mix of Andrastian statues and Dalish curtains and flags - gave the place a homey feel. As odd as her tastes were, not even Solas can deny the green and pink hues complemented each other neatly.

Solas should feel more miffed that his own castle barely cast him a glance upon returning home, but considering the new owner absolutely loves her castle, he decides to let it slide. Besides, after this long the castle could very well boot him out. Best to not raise a ruckus. 

Solas had taken up in the rotunda, hands tracing the walls with a nostalgia he's missed since his awakening. In his horror at what had happened when the Veil was created, he'd never actually stopped to consider any emotion other than the longer for what once was, delving into the fade for lost memories. 

Since Da'fen had come into his life, he hasn't done much Fade exploration. He'd always suffer pokes and giggles until he woke, or he'd wake to find himself covered in itchy, sap drenched pine needles. Or worse, with something drawn on his face. 

So now he stayed awake, and he let Da'fen drag him around in this half-world he'd created. And strange as it is, he didn't mind her taking his hand and hauling him away to look at something she'd found.


	26. Varric: Skyhold

It is a game. All soft giggles and softer eyes.

Varric and Da'fen flirted through the halls in the hours when there was hardly anyone awake. They'd take turns stealing from each other and hiding the items in dark corners about the castle. He still remembers the day he'd taken her breastband and hidden it down in the wine cellar. As usual, Da'fen still won her round. Not only did she find her treasure hidden away that night during their game, but she'd done so after successfully driving Varric wild all that day. She walked with a confidant step, making her breasts bounce with every step as she walked across the hall; she stood close to speak with him about something or other, an extra button undone to tempt him but daring him to do so; she leaned over Solas' desk when he asked her to come look at something, shirt falling loose from her and baring the bottom curve of her breast before shifting her weight to one foot, blocking his view with her backside.

Oh yes, Varric was very much half wild by the end of that day, and very much torn about whether or not to do it again. 

He'd come closer than ever to forgetting that night in the wine cellar. When Da'fen had bent to retrieve her breastband, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to feel that strip of skin over her breeches. The sharp gasp followed by a content sigh was enough to encourage him to press her against a wall, big hand splayed across her back. Her skin had been hot to the touch as she lowered herself onto a crate. Her hands went to his chest, tracing the pulse at his throat and over his collarbones before moving to deliberately undo the first button on his shirt. He let her with a soft groan, and her lips took her fingers' place on his collarbone. He bent low to catch those lips with his own, only to have Bianca catch on the shelf above their heads.

The sound startled them both, and a different kind of tension had filled him. He'd hoped she wouldn't notice his hesitation, but she did. She had silently recollected her breastband and walked around him and out of the cellar, leaving him there to curse himself for being such an idiot. He'd followed her up on shaky legs, but didn't see her.

It's been three days and she hasn't spoken to him since then. Varric knows she is right to be angry, but it still pinched him deep inside. It had him thinking that she'd put those barriers back up, that he'd never see her dimple at him again. 

At least, until the morning he woke and Bianca wasn't propped up next to his bed as usual. He'd panicked on his way the the hall, stopping when he saw Da'fen already there and eating breakfast at one of the tables. She noticed him standing there, and he watched as her eyes hardened and he knew exactly what that look meant.

_I dare you to finish what you started._


	27. Cullen: Skyhold

Cullen is peaceful for the first time in a long time. The stress of commanding the Inquisition's forces is still there, but it's oddly easier to bear since coming to Skyhold. He's even sleeping easier at night. 

Da'fen is also spending more time with him, coming up to his office to sort incoming reports as he writes his own, walking the ramparts with him, and late evening tea on top of their usual early morning bouts. He'd become more confident in touching her in this time. Brushing hair out of her face, tracing various scars, letting his leg lean against hers under the desk when they did reports. He found himself waiting anxiously when she left the castle, holding his breath when the door to the war room opened, glancing around for her whenever he stepped into or out of a new room. 

As often as he found her gaze, he's hopeful she's doing the same. 

And when his lips finally find hers on the battlements that day, it's like every stress he's ever had just melts away. 

He knows there will be trouble, and talk, and trials. But Maker, if he gets to see those dimples every day, he'll take on the world.


	28. Solas: Misunderstanding

"And I despise that you flirt outright with him and turn around and come to do the same thing to me, and I despise that you're always hanging all over each other, and I despise that he's so damn smug when you go running to hug him and he is always aiming that cocky ass grin my way when you do so I guess that no, I am not okay!"

Solas finally stopped pacing the forest floor a few feet from Da'fen, his chest heaving after his ranting, and looked down into her stunned and silent expression. Random details drew his eye. Her hair is down, the length splaying over her shoulders and down her back. There's dirt on her face and under her fingernails. They had been doing some hunting when they came upon the mushrooms and she hadn't been able to resist them. What had soured Solas' mood was her mentioning Dorian had a mushroom soup recipe he could cook if he had the right mushrooms. 

Da'fen makes an odd grunting sound. That turns to a snicker. Then a giggle. Then she's rolled on her back squealing in mirth, hands covering her face as tears stream down her face. The air runs out of Solas' sails and his ears quaver between drooping with confusion and perking with her pretty laugh and pinning back at the fact that he  _knew_ she was laughing at him. He clears his throat and she makes a concentrated effort at controlling herself with deep breaths before rolling to her feet. The smile on her face as she approaches him is soft and warm. She takes his face in both hands and places a kiss on his nose, then begins to speak.

"Oh, you dear, sweet, irascible, irritable, tetchy, petulant, and snappish man!' 

There's a kiss after every word, moving across his face every time until she finally laid her lips on his. Solas is mollified after this, but he still reaches to take her hands in his and pull them from his face.

"What?" he asks dumbly. "What about Dorian?"

She shakes her head exasperatedly, that same warm smile on her face.

"Solas, Dorian is gay."

Silence descends on their grove of trees as Solas' breath catches in his throat.

Da'fen raises her brows at him and he clears his throat.

"Um, shall we pretend this didn't happen?"

Back at Skyhold, as Solas dips his brush to paint, he hears the rich tones of Dorian's laugh echoing down the rotunda. This time, it wasn't jealousy that pinked his ears.


	29. Varric: Misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much got away from me, but this was a chapter I wanted to emphasize. I wanted to get the understanding across that even hardasses like Cassandra can be hurt. You never know what a person might be thinking or feeling just because they don't express emotions the same way you do. If you ever find yourself with a person that is standoffish or hard to read, don't blow them off, but please make the attempt to see that they might be dealing with something in their own way. Just remember that they're a person on the other side of your mouth and that you can hurt them by negligently saying things just because you think they don't hurt.

Varric is certainly not prepared for the hard cuff to the back of his head, and swears violently before turning - ready to stake the offender with a convenient bolt between the eyes - and froze under Da'fen's furious glare. 

"You idiot! How could you do this!" she hisses at him, reaching to grab an ear before he can pull away. "Why in the fuck have you led Cassandra on this damn long and then leave her to find out about us?"

Varric wishes he could laugh. Wishes he could tell her that he'd never flirted with the Seeker, had never seen her flirt with him. He hasn't been leading anyone on. But the storm across Da'fen's face leaves no room for laughing. Some of the words stumble out.

"Oh really? Flowers. Poetry. Braiding her hair. Taking watch shifts with her. What the fuck were these then?"

Varric's stomach plummets. The flowers and poetry were jokes. Nothing about Cassandra suggested the softness of flowers or poetry. While the woman preferred her hair short, it had lengthened to an annoying length over their trip from Kirkwall, and he'd shown her the deft twists that wound her locks out of her face. And there in no way he was about to admit he took watch with her because she always sharpened her blade before bed and the sound of the whetstone across steel lulled him to sleep.

"Does she actually believe this? Andraste's tits none of it had meaning!"

"Oh,  _I'm_ well aware of your pranks.  _Cassandra_ is not one to know how to tell the subtler jokes apart! _You_ are going to fix this right damn now."

"Me? What am I going to do?"

Da'fen shoves a basket into his hands. In it was a wine bottle he didn't recognize - a feat in itself - and two glasses. 

"You're going to take this to her, you're going to shut your fucking mouth and let someone else do the talking for once, if you do open your mouth, you're going to actually think about the person on the other side, and if you mess this up any worse than it already is then I swear by Fen'harel's fangs that I will ship you back to Kirkwall in a barrel of that Antivan red your so fond of! Now _git_!"

Varric got before she added a boot to his ass.

It was only early evening, but the Seeker was not slaying her training dummy as she normally did. Varric trudged up the stairs to her little loft room and found her staring out the window. Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. When she sees who it is, her eyes lowers to the hands that started fidgeting. He'd never seen her look away from anything.

Well, shit.

Varric has no idea how to handle this. So he did what Da'fen had said to - he kept his mouth shut. Cassandra didn't speak as he walked to the table and set the basket next to it. He pulls out both glasses and the wine. He sees the flash of recognition in her eyes when she sees the label. He pours them both a glass, the Seeker's a little more generously, and lays out a hunk of salted ham and a block of cheese that had also been tucked away in the basket. 

He settles into a seat and begins to slice the foodstuffs. Cassandra hesitantly joined him at the table as he did so, still silent. Still not looking at him. Her hands cupped around her goblet and she stared into her wine, and it was more than enough confirmation for Varric. His emotions are mixed at seeing Cassandra like this. He's never seen her so vulnerable. 

It's full dark outside before she finally whispers, "You were...always just there. You came when you didn't have to. You stayed when you didn't have to. it was admirable, to see you try to do something, to take responsibility when so many were looking for someone else to blame. You always knew what to say. Anytime I got stuck with a person, you always had words ready that I wouldn't have dreamed of using. I thought we worked well together. Then the flowers started. Laid on my sword, stuffed in my boots. I don't know how you found Giralna's Grace so frequently, or how you knew it was my favorite. The first time you braided my hair, I was skeptical. I thought you would just twist a thorn bramble into it. But it was...nice. I got used to having you on watch with me. The smell of your cologne and the sound of your voice as you murmured jokes and stories helped me relax."

She paused, still staring into her cup, and Varric took the time to look at her. Not the Seeker. Not the Right Hand. At Cassandra. The woman. And he did not hide the heartbreak on his face. He'd done all of those things yes, but in a sneering, joking manner. He'd never meant any of it. He never thought of her past her title and what he could to to get under her skin, to be that thorn in her side. Never stopped to think that she might've been seeing something, or even receptive to romantic gestures. He'd always assumed she'd never pause her work for something so silly. 

"I should have realized I was being like a stupid girl," she whispers. 

Varric could have wrote a sonnet about the single, silent tear that slid down her face. 

He hops off his chair and moves around the table in time to put his hand on her back by the time the second one falls. He doesn't rub, doesn't pat, just lets the weight of his big hand rest between her shoulders. The tears streak down her cheeks, but she didn't utter the smallest whimper or sob, and for some reason, her silent shattering hurt Varric more than any of the loudest screamed name calling ever could.

Varric opened his mouth, but paused when words flashed through his head.

_Think about the person on the other side._

He changes whatever he was about to say to an inhalation of air and tries again.

"Cassandra." his voice is low, attempting to be comforting, "this is all my fault. I never stopped to consider what you were thinking about my actions. But I swear to you, I never meant to intentionally be cruel to you. And it was cruel. I see it now. I wasn't paying any attention to what you were going through. I'm sorry."

He felt it was the time to shut up so he did. He left his hand there, and he waited patiently as Cassandra cried herself out. Eventually, the stupor left her and she straightened her back. Varric took his cue to give her some breathing room as she swiped at her face. He patted a couple of pockets and eventually turned up a handkerchief for her. She eyes it carefully, her fingers hesitating.

"At the risk of sounding cliche, we can try to be friends right? I can't go back and erase this, but it has helped me understand you and I don't want to lose the ground we've gained. So please, can we try?"

She considered his words, and Varric's heart pinched. Ever headstrong, Cassandra had learned caution with him.

A moment later she nods and takes the handkerchief. As she wipes her face he asks, "Should I send Da'fen?"

"No." Cassandra sighs, and the first warble of emotion colors her voice. "I am not ready to face her yet."

Varric now understands the Antivan red threat. Da'fen won't let anything come between her and her best friend, not even him. Somehow, it makes him hold her in even higher esteem. And if he happened to have watched the soft smile on Cassandra's face the next morning when she walked out and saw the stalk of Giralna's Grace on her favored training dummy, well, no one was going to know.


	30. Cullen: Misunderstanding

Cullen fidgeted. Cullen almost never fidgeted. But here he stood, idly shifting his papers, tapping his pen, shifting weight from one side to the other. He hadn't even realized he was doing so until Leliana and Josephine glanced at each other and broke into giggles.He'd stumbled through an excuse with a cough and finally escaped the war room when the horn announcing Da'fen's return to Skyhold had echoed through the stones of the castle. He'd hurried down to greet her and ask her to join him later after she'd settled in. He'd watched that brow raise in curiosity and smiled.

He's in his office, carefully setting up the last pieces of his surprise when the knock on the door came. He tries to calm his hammering heart in case it's just more reports being delivered. Da'fen beamed up at him, her dark hair dusted with a late afternoon snow flurry. He ushers her in and closes the door behind her. He's already out of his armor, and he helps her out of the fur lined cloak she favors. 

"I have a surprise for you tonight. It's upstairs. Think you can climb the ladder with a blindfold?" 

He holds up the slip of satin, a scrap off a dress that even their laundress didn't have a use for, and her soft giggle helps calm his nerves. She accepts and he gently ties the scrap of cloth around her eyes and leads her to lay a hand on the ladder. He clambers up first - careful of fingers - then turns to take her hand and help her up. She didn't need it, but she didn't mind him pulling her close to him.

"I, erm, wanted to do something special for you. I wasn't sure what I might could do, but I thought you'd appreciate a bit of home."

He unties the blindfold at the last word and she gasps. The small table now sat covering in plates and bowls that were supposedly Dalish in origin. Loranil swore every dish was something special that Da'fen would enjoy. Cullen watches as she crosses to the table, reverently tracing the edges of the plates and peeking over into the bowls. She seemed pleased, even if Cullen is still skeptical over the goat's curds. It was supposed to be halla, but Loranil assured him that Da'fen would allow the substitute. 

"Cullen this is amazing. How did you do all of this? Where did you even learn about this ceremony?"

That stumped Cullen and he coughs, bringing Da'fen's attention to him. "Um, ceremony?" he asks cautiously.

She straightens and pauses, cocking her head to one side as she regarded him. "Cullen dear, who helped you do this?"

"Loranil," he said slowly.

"Mmhmm, and just what did you say to him? What were the exact words?"

"Th-that I wanted to do something special for you."

She giggles softly before gesturing him over.

"Loranil didn't  _quite_ understand what you were asking for. He took 'special' to mean 'ceremonial'."

She let that hang in the air between them for a moment.

"Maker's breath, what did I just do? Are you mad? Please don't be mad at me."

She giggles again and takes his hand. "I'm not mad, ma falon. But with every dish here you  _have_ declared yourself that you seek me for a bonding, or what you would call a wedding."

Cullen fidgets. Clears his throat. Opens his mouth. Swallows. Tries again.

"Ahem, well, that's a bit early, not that you aren't amazing, but I was trying to tell you I wanted to get serious, so maybe it's not a complete disaster?"

Da'fen pulls him into a hug and he relaxes into her embrace, taking in a deep breath of her earthy scent. 

"You did good, ma falon, but maybe a little more communication next time?"

Cullen agrees wholeheartedly as she pulls away and picks up  _that_ bowl. She swipes a finger through the contents and sticks it in her mouth. "This is good. Goat?"

He nods, then carefully says, "Loranil said I shouldn't worry about you being mad about the substitute?"

She giggles again and her eyes twinkle as she leans in and whispers, "Halla curds aid fertility."

She turns back to the table as the implication of  _that_ bowl washes over him like a river.

_"Maker's breath!"_


	31. Solas: Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, hell. Apparently I can't get my shit together and maintain a schedule. Anyone following this, just know that I am updating and will finish the story in due time. Apologies for the wait.

The group had been meandering through dappled forests of the Hinterlands for most of the morning before Iron Bull commented, "You've got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints."

"It comes from being self-taught." Solas replies with a shrug. "I discovered most magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade."

Iron Bull snorts softly before sliding his eye towards Solas. "I've seen self-taught warriors. Even the good ones have something awkward in their style, something that clunks. I don't get that from you."

Before Solas can respond, Da'fen calls over her shoulder, "Solas is using a type of magic you've never been exposed to, Bull. It's ancient, and not even practiced among the elves any longer."

"How did you-"

"However," Da'fen continues, ignoring the fact that Solas had been about to speak, "even though you can't feel it, his style of magic does in fact clunk. You just haven't learned where yet."

Solas smiles. "Alright, impromptu magic lesson one. Do  _you_ know where my magic clunks?"

"Offense." she says without missing a beat. "You always charge too much, like you never learned proper restraint. It's why I'm constantly having to boost your mana. I'm willing to bet my sable cloak that you did quite a bit of fist-fighting in your early years. Besides, those calluses on your knuckles aren't the side effects of a pious man going door to door asking for donations."

"I don't have the faintest idea what your talking about."

Da'fen snorts at his feigned innocence and he smiles softly. Cole returns from picking flowers and begins twisting the stems into a crown. Not even Iron Bull startles at his sudden appearances anymore.

"So what kind of magic  _is_ Solas using, and where does it clunk?" Iron Bull asks, brow furrowing in concentration.

"It's a style of magic that focuses on long term defense. Barriers and wards are as easy as twisting a wrist to him. Even healing comes to him more easily than most mages can achieve. It comes from the time of Arlathan, when elves were immortal and they needed spells that  _lasted._ Even in combat, this type of magic could be turned against enemies. Poisoning wells, rusting gates, crumbling foundations. It's why he has a problem with offense. He can probably chant for a week straight without tiring, but spells of this age are here and gone again before you can even really get out a full incantation."

Solas wonders where she learned all of this, and worries at how much she knows about him personally from this information.

"I would guess that speed is where it would clunk, though you can't always trust a generalization like that when it comes to magic."

"Why not? Isn't most magic the same?" Bull has taken a few longer strides to match Da'fen's lead.

"No, magic is inherently different from person to person."

"What?" Solas and Iron Bull ask in unison.

"Hmm, Bull, what color is fire?"

"It's red."

"Uh-huh, and if I were to say that fire was, oh, Cole baby, pick a color for me?"

"Black." he answers immediately, eyes focused on his ever developing flower crown.

"If I were to tell you that fire was black, what would you say?"

"You're out of your mind." he answered flatly.

Da'fen smiles up at him, in that I-know-something-you-don't-know way she has, and Solas is drawn towards her as she lifts her hand, palm up. A quick muttering of words, and there was a tiny flame cradled over her palm. Solas gasps. 

It's black, flickering in the breeze, with a soft, smoke grey center. Solas can't resist moving closer and reaching out to it. It gave off a cheery warmth.

"That's just an illusion-" Iron Bull begins.

"It is no illusion." Solas breathes, creating a silence that left both he and Bull in contemplation. It made it easy for Da'fen's next words to absorb.

"Yes, magic from say, Circle trained mages will feel the same, will clunk in the same places, because the  _lessons_ clunk. Because there is an inherent weakness in what is being taught. It is the same for Tevinter. However, magic is what you make it. It takes on what you believe it to be. So while you believe fire to be red, I can believe it to be black, and neither of us are wrong, because magic has made us both right. There are always exceptions, Iron Bull, and not accepting that will get you in trouble before you even know which way is up."

She let the little black flame die, and continued walking. The other three followed along behind her in silence. But before they got very far, she asks, "Cole, why did you pick black?"

_"Crystal water drops on coal black fur, watching as the wolf pup flirted with the missing halla I have been sent to retrieve. Pitch black around me as I climb, miss the next limb and almost fall, before finally getting to a break in the canopy and looking up at thousands of diamonds scattered in the sky above me. Tir'alas' hair wrapped around my fingers like ribbons of black silk."_

Cole quietly replies, "Many people are afraid of black, but to your eyes it's beautiful. I like seeing it through your eyes. You  _like_ black."

Da'fen pulls him into a one-armed hug and kisses his cheek. "So I do."

Barely a second passes before Bull asks what Solas had just opened his mouth to ask.

"Hey boss, who's Tir'alas?"


	32. Varric: Lesson

Varric can't get his head around it. Hadn't even thought something like this was possible. Had been swearing up and down that no one could outshoot him and Bianca. Had been proving it too. He'd started up a friendly challenge with some of the recruits. Five gold to whoever could best him and his crossbow at sixty paces. Few could even shoot fifty paces, let alone hit the target. Until this very moment.

An arrow had come out of nowhere, and before he even dared look to see who had loosed it, it had split his crossbow bolt in two. The arrow is still quavering when he turns back to see Da'fen another thirty paces behind him, holding what appeared to be a recurve bow that she'd apparently taken from a wide eyed recruit. As he watched, Da'fen calmly drew another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, aimed, and loosed the arrow. Varric watches as it splits the arrow she just shot. And again. And again. Five times she split an arrow from  _ninety_ _paces_ with a  _recurve_ bow. 

Varric didn't even have words for the deed. Da'fen did.

As she was handing the recruit his bow back, her voice echoed over the near silent courtyard.

"Remember also, hard work beats talent, when talent doesn't work hard."

Then she smirked in Varric's direction before sauntering off with a sway of her hips.


	33. Cullen: Lesson

This is not what Cullen had intended with his questions this morning. He'd been ruminating over Da'fen's yearly binding ritual, her  _blood_ ritual, and had done nothing but worry his bottom lip for days. Today, he finally put aside his apprehension and approached Da'fen with a series of questions about the ritual itself. She had answered them without reserve, but when it seemed like Cullen didn't quite understand the concept, she had dragged him to her quarters and blown through her belongings like a tornado. Clothes and items were strewn about the floor, but her triumphant yell over a thick, leather bound book made him smile.

And now here they were, sitting in the floor going over every note either she or Tir'alas had made in the some odd eleven years she had been doing this ritual. Cullen is fascinated by it. By the transformation of her spells from the first time she'd stumbled across this demon, to the exact ritual she used just last year. He even made observations of his own, that she quickly scribbled into her book.

"But Da'fen, why is all of this necessary?" Cullen finally asks. "Just what is this demon?"

He regrets the question almost immediately. She stops in the middle of reaching for a pen and her eyes become glassy, and he knows she is remembering something that should be forgotten.

"He is...a husband beating his wife. A mother strangling a child she doesn't want. Children torturing animals. People torturing people. I wish I could say he was something as simple as war, but war I can understand. In some cases, war is even necessary. But not this demon. He is something older, something more pervasive. He is Violence, the embodiment of every raised hand in this world. I promise you, if he had not come to me, and if I had not tricked him into the binding, this world would be in flames."

"He came to you?" Cullen asks quietly, and the implication hung heavy between them. 

She let the silence hang, fingers tracing the scar curling over her jawline.

Before he could ask, Cassandra called up the stairs, "Da'fen? I'm sorry to intrude, but you are needed at the war table."

Da'fen shakes out of her reverie and calls, "Thanks Cassie, we'll be there shortly."

Cullen helps her to her feet as the door downstairs closes, and for what feels like the thousandth time, wonders where she got those scars.


	34. Solas: Blood Mage

The fight they'd stumbled into was brutal. They were outnumbered severely, and had made two separate attempts to escape with no luck. As soon as they tried, any opening was cut off by a fighter circling around to close the hole or an archer getting  _far_ too close for comfort. So they finally dug in, Solas and Da'fen boosting Cassandra and Bull while keeping any from flanking them. It takes them a few minutes just to clear the archers.

Six soldiers were left, and for a moment, Solas is afraid. He isn't sure they're going to make it out of this one. He looks to Da'fen worriedly. She's fierce as wildfire, her staff twirling as she cast spells, and the emotion on her face wasn't doubt or fear. Just a firm determination as she stood behind Cassandra to guard the other woman's back, redirecting some blows and taking others completely. She closes with one enemy in outright martial combat, taking the swings of his short sword on her staff handle and using an opening to swipe his feet out from under him. She looses a dagger from her belt and cuts his throat before he can recover.

"SOLAS!" 

Solas startles out of his stupor and looks up to find a large enemy soldier with a polearm bearing down on him. Iron Bull is there in the blink of an eye, placing his bulk firmly between the mage and the closing threat. It takes some footwork, but Iron Bull manages to snap the weapon in two. Before Solas could finish the spell that would lay a barrier over both of them, another enemy comes bolting from out of nowhere and slams his hulking frame into him, picking him up and shoving him forward until they met Iron Bull's expansive back. 

_Oh no, oh no, oh no._

Bull, caught off guard, pitches forward and onto the staff of the polearm he'd just shattered. It pierces straight through the qunari's upper right chest, and Solas nearly loses an eye on it himself. In less than a second, the air becomes super charged, and it feels like time slows down. The hairs on the back of Solas' neck stands up and his eyes widen in real fear as he turns towards Da'fen. Every other eye does the same.

She's cut herself on the backs of her arms from wrist to elbow, and the wild magic that swirls around her now is red with blood. Her eyes, her pretty grey-green eyes, have also bled red. Immediately the five remaining enemies drop what they're doing and rush Da'fen at once. Solas calls her name, but dares not leave Iron Bull. Cutting off the healing magic for even a second will be the end for Iron Bull. 

Solas watches in horror as Da'fen summons an evil looking blade with jagged edges. Wild magic still crackles around her, lifting her hair and making her appear like a wraith made solid. She closes with the soldiers, taking them all on at once. It is a dangerous dance of blades, but for all their combined strength, not a single hit lands on Da'fen. She ducks, dodges, weaves, and jumps to avoid the blades, and all the while that black blade of her own slashes out. One man spills his guts. Another loses his head. One impales a comrade after Da'fen moves out from between them. She cuts the forth in half from one side of his neck to the opposite waist.

The last attempts to flee. Da'fen throws one of her poisoned butterfly knives and hits him in the back of the thigh. The man screams and goes down, and Solas watches as he babbles incoherently through tears and tries to crawl away. Da'fen follows with slow and deliberate steps. By the time she reaches him, he's so overcome with fear that he's curled into a ball, shaking violently, hands covering his eyes. Da'fen calmly raises that black sword and brings it down on the man's neck, decapitating him.

She spends a few moments breathing deeply, and as she does the whirling eddies of her wild magic calm into a breeze. She banishes the blade before turning and walking towards Iron Bull, whom Solas had cradled in his lap and was pouring every ounce of healing magic he had left into. Solas curls around Iron Bull defensively. Da'fen's eyes were still red with blood magic. Even Cassandra circles around, short sword held hesitantly between her and her friend. Da'fen smiles softly at both of them, and raises her hands in a placating gesture.

"May I?" she asks, gesturing to Iron Bull. They exchange glances and nod, both slightly relaxing. It's a farce. They all know neither of them could stop Da'fen if they tried. But her asking gave Solas hope that she wasn't lost.

She approaches slowly, and kneels next to Solas. She does not hide her eyes from Iron Bull, who's own were wide from pain and fear. Slowly, gently, she lays the backs of her fingers on his cheek. 

"Shh, da'len." she whispers, and murmurs other comforting words in elvish. 

"I can heal you, Iron Bull, if you'd like me to." her words are calm, and she doesn't look away to hide her eyes from him. He knows what she's offering.

He mustered his last bit of strength and nodded.

Da'fen's arms encircle him, both hands unerringly finding both protruding ends of the staff handle. Magic lights up both of her palms, and she nods to Solas, who sags in relief; he was almost out of mana. Then Da'fen begins chanting, in a language even Solas doesn't know, and a finger of fear traces his spine. All he knows is this incantation is older than even Arlathan. Where did she learn such?

Despite his fear over her magic, Solas watches in relief and fascination as splinters tug from Iron Bull's ruined flesh, first the smallest then moving to the largest. Solas wonders why Iron Bull isn't screaming. With trepidation Solas reaches out to touch Da'fen's aura. It was the same as it has always been, just with small sparks of energized magic dancing over the edges. He feels her intents through her aura. She is using magic to pull the splinters, but she is also feeding magic into Iron Bull for several purposes: blocking pain receptors, calming his mind, and soothing both his fear of dying and his fear of  _her._

Eventually, the two inch shaft is all that's left, and it pulls free of Iron Bull's flesh with a wet, sucking sound. Solas shivers, remembering the archdemon making the same noise as it spewed fire. The wound gapes for only a moment before Da'fen's magic begins to knit it back together. The whole thing takes nearly half an hour. 

She had just stood and turned away when Solas feels something rushing upon them. He shouts a warning, but Da'fen is already there, throwing a wall sized barrier between the four of them and whatever this monster was. It slams into Da'fen's barrier over and over again, trying to break it, but Solas can see the red gems scattered throughout it that signals she's still using blood magic. Solas watches as a large black shape oozes around her barrier, testing for weak points. 

"Enough!" she commands, her voice echoing sharply. "You'll have nothing from us! Take your payment from the corpses and leave!"

The oozing shadow screeches unhappily. Da'fen shoves her hands forward, throwing her barrier against the shade. 

"NOW!" she barks at it sharply. 

It stills for a moment, then slowly moves around to the bodies of the fallen. Da'fen circles her barrier with it, always keeping herself between it and her companions. Solas covers Iron Bull's eye and turns himself away. Cassandra heaves up the contents of her stomach nearby as the sound of bones crunching fill the air. Da'fen watches it devour the corpses with a hard, almost business-like eye.

Eventually, silence fills the air once again. Da'fen, however, does not lower her barrier for another several minutes, but takes several steps around the edge, cocking her head and listening and reaching out with her aura to ensure the coast was clear. When she finally decides that it's safe to leave, she heals the cuts on her arms without even leaving scars, and carefully centers herself with deep breaths. The red leaves her eyes and she sags in exhaustion.

"Alright, let's get the big guy back to camp. We  _all_ need rest tonight." she says, turning to help lift Iron Bull to his feet.

"Da'fen, what exactly  _was_ that monstrosity?" Cassandra asks, one of Iron Bull's arms slung over her shoulder.

"Violence. May you never meet it without me standing between you."


	35. Varric: Blood Mage

Varric crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at Vivienne. She had gathered the war council and Da'fen's inner circle into the war room - without Da'fen - and had begun spewing vitriol about Da'fen's blasphemous use of blood magic. Claimed she was an abomination. That she couldn't be trusted. That she was plotting against them. That they were all in danger.

That Da'fen needed to be cut down.

Cullen calmly walks around the war table before  drawing his sword and laying the tip under Vivienne's chin. The surprise on her face was something that Varric would laugh at for years to come. She looks around at the others, but none move to either say or do anything about his very clear threat. None disagree. Josephine was first to speak.

"Madam de Fer, while we appreciate your bringing your concerns to us, we are all very well aware that Da'fen is a blood mage. It is common knowledge among the Inquisition's forces, per Da'fen's own request. I have also personally handled revealing the information to our allies. Da'fen has already told the Commander of the incident that happened a few days ago, and submitted herself for examination by templars under the Commander's supervision. Obviously, if she were possessed she wouldn't have been allowed to wallow in last nights' dinner roast with The Iron Bull and Sera."

There were a few snickers at that.

"However," Josie continues, gesturing at Cullen with her quill, "we must now come to and address your threat against our Inquisitor. If it was only made in the heat of the moment, you will be allowed to stay - under supervision. If you cannot bring yourself to continue working with Da'fen knowing she is a blood mage, you are welcome to leave. I would like to remind you that if you choose to leave, slander against the Inquisitor  _will not_ be tolerated."

The raven currently perched on Leliana's shoulder shook his feathers, a silent reminder that Vivienne's safety was not guaranteed by leaving. 

"I advise you to take a few days to make your decision, but I would not dally longer than that. In the meantime, you are welcome to observe the methods we have developed to maintain Da'fen's integrity and safety, and the safety of all of those around her. We thank you for your observations, and will mark them in the notes concerning the blood magic used by Da'fen. You are dismissed."

Cullen sheathes his sword without a word, and Vivienne attempts to salvage some dignity before fleeing the room. An arm wraps around Varric's shoulder, and he reaches up to rub a thumb soothingly over Da'fen's lower back. Murmurs break out around the room.

"Should we deal with her?" he asks quietly.

"No. She is afraid. She doesn't need more reason to fear, she needs a chance to learn. She's been taught all her life that blood magic is evil, that it is the gateway for demons, abominations, and possessions. Suddenly having it being used in front of her as blatantly as a blacksmith's hammer has shaken her."

"But no one else is arguing that you did what you had to. We would have lost The Iron Bull if not for your actions." Cassandra calls from across the room. "While we have some who are still uncomfortable with the knowledge of your blood magic," she pauses to lay a hard eye on Blackwall, "no one can argue with the results from the templars."

"I might disagree, but I understand the situation that drove her to use her blood magic." Blackwall says, lifting his chin. "But it's like she said; knowing she is a blood mage and seeing her use it for the first time are different things. I am adjusting to the new reality set before me, and in the meantime, I trust the templars' decision."

Heads nod in agreement, Varric's included.

"Does anyone else have anything to add? Maybe some observations to add to my notes? Any concerns that we should go over? Any questions to ask?" Da'fen asks, looking around at those gathered. Gears clicked into place in Varric's head.

"Hey! That's a great idea! We'll hold a question and answer session - under templar supervision of course - and let people ask you about blood magic. It'll ease some minds and create an opening for education that is otherwise closed off. What do you think?"

Da'fen smiles brightly but turns to Cullen before voicing her opinion. 

"I think it's a brilliant idea. I'll even wrangle my recruits into it. Knowing how to combat hostile blood mages safely would be valuable to our army, especially considering that out enemies are Tevinter mages. No offense, Ser Dorian."

"None taken, good man." Dorian laughs.

With confident agreements, the whole group moves out of the war room, calling for a gathering in the outer courtyard. Varric smiles when Da'fen sneaks a quick press of her lips to his cheek.


	36. Cullen: Blood Mage

Cullen sits atop his sable destrier, chatting amicably with Da'fen as they plod along the dusty path towards Adamant. The column of soldiers spread a half mile behind them, mules and carts hauling supplies to lay siege to the ancient fortress. Scouts fan out around them, circling between scanning ahead, gathering supplies to the sides, and covering tracks in the rear. There are even an ambitious pair climbing the cliffsides to gain better views as they marched. 

Da'fen's hart bugles in alarm, shifting on his feet before pawing a cloven hoof in the sand. Da'fen frowns before reaching for the horn at her hip. Three short blasts signal the column to tighten ranks, and recalls the scouts. Da'fen dismounts, and barks for a messenger. Cullen is right behind her and waits for an opportunity to ask her what's going on.

"Wrap the eyes of the animals. I want them all covered immediately. Cover and tie down all supplies. Once that's done, get every person tied to each other. I don't want anyone left straggling, do you understand?"

"Yes, milady!" the messenger shouts and salutes before running off to relay her orders.

"What's going on, Da'fen?" Cullen asks as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his destrier's eyes. Da'fen is doing the same for her hart.

"Sandstorm. If we're lucky we have a few minutes to prepare. There's an old quarry cave further up the road that's big enough to hold all of us. It used to grow red lyrium but we've been clearing it out for weeks and there's nothing left so we should be safe to wait out-"

Howling cuts her off and in unison both turn to look up at the sky. Soldiers pause and do the same. 

Da'fen turns and bellows over the ranks, "HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!"

She'd barely finished her sentence before the sky darkened and they were swarmed by howling winds snatching at their clothes. Cullen almost lost his footing. Sand whips around him, stinging his face. 

 _"This is bad,"_ he thinks as he grits his teeth and struggles to keep sand out of his eyes.  _"We aren't going to survive this!'_

Behind his eyelids, he sees something glow. He feels a surge of magic and opens his eyes as the wind dies down, turning to ask Da'fen how she's doing this-

And sees the blood rivuleting down both arms. She has them raised above her head and bare to the elbow, exposing the cuts across the backs of her arms. Before his fear can overcome him, Da'fen orders, "To the cave! Quickly! Weather cannot be controlled for long!"

Indeed she was grinding her teeth, and a line of sweat drips down one side of her face. Cullen turns back to the column and his breath catches. Around the whole army of soldiers was a barrier a mile high. It arches over them like a massive tent. Around them the sandstorm still rages. Cullen snaps out of his stupor and begins ordering the soldiers forward, and barking for scouts to look for the cave. 

He walks next to Da'fen, leading her up the path as the army moves. She had to move with them to keep them all under the barrier, but the effort made her slow. Soldiers pass around her, and many sharp eyes find the marks on her arms that show the cost of her protection. Cullen grits his teeth and maintains ordering the army forward. Finally, they reach the cave and begin funneling troops inside. Da'fen stands at the entrance, holding the the barrier. Cullen waits with her, watching the muscles in her arms quake with exertion. Finally, only Cullen is left, and he slips inside first, Da'fen backing in after him. He watches as she drags apart some old scaffolding to close off the entrance, and he can feel when she releases the magic holding the barrier.

When she turns around, his blade hovers over her heart.

"Templars!" he calls. Immediately several templars draw their swords and form a human wall behind him. Da'fen doesn't look surprised at all. She bows her head and kneels with her hands up. Heart in his throat, Cullen signals a woman beside him to approach Da'fen. She hesitates before she does so, and Cullen cannot find it in him to fault her for it. For some reason, watching Da'fen accept the orders of her commander, her  _templar_ commander, made him trust her more. She could have tried to get away with it, claiming her title, or even appealing to her lover, but following protocol gained her more respect than using blood magic had gained her fear.

Da'fen lets the woman lift her by the arms and march her deeper into the cave. Templars form a circle around her and the remaining troops look on with worry. Cullen has to swallow twice before he can make the orders.

"Templars! Barrier!"

Half the circle drop to their knees and begin chanting over their swords. A pale blue light fills the cave as a spell proof barrier is lifted around Da'fen and the woman templar holding onto her. She tells Da'fen to drop back to her knees, and Da'fen does so without protest. Cullen is having trouble breathing now. 

"Purge!" 

The templars holding the barrier switch incantations, and Cullen holds his breath as the barrier pulses over her. She sits silently, and after a few minutes the blue light fades. It's almost anticlimactic. One of the barrier templars stands and walks to Cullen.

"We have purged her. There is a bit of taint that comes from her bound demon. We are familiar with it. It has not grown nor has it's locks been broken or loosened. Beyond what we already know, there is nothing out of the ordinary. She is clear of any demon, possession, or madness."

There is a collective sigh of relief as the man's words echo around the cave. Cullen almost sobs. He swallows it down and nods to the man, who sees Cullen's dilemma. The man is old enough that there's more grey in his beard than black, and he reaches to lay a hand on Cullen's shoulder. 

"You did what was right, son. Even she knows that. She'll be proud of you, like we all are."

Cullen bows his head and breathes deep. He closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling, and feels the hand on his shoulder be replaced by a firm pair of arms wrapping around him. Cullen buries his face in her neck, and her fingers tease through his hair.

"You did well, ma vhenan."


	37. Solas: Intimate Moment

Solas sits propped against a tree in blatant satiation. He is calm, relaxed, and he sits sprawled as arrogantly as he did in his youth. He sips wine from a cup brought by a servant, and his magic aura pulses with his fullness of self. Few people were in the garden today, but those that are drowse pleasantly under the influence of his aura. Nearby, Da'fen is giving Cole a lesson in lettering and numbers. Solas idly takes in her appearance with half-lidded eyes. 

It isn't exactly a secret that he spends his nights in Da'fen's bed, but there have been two separate instances where a Chantry sister had chastised him for making it so obvious. He'd lazily winked at both of them. One blushed up to her hairline but firmly stated that he might respect Da'fen's public appearance while there were visitors in the castle and the other had laughed raucously and called him a bawdy young fool. Solas was immediately fond of both of them, and now often makes time to find and tease both.

Even Da'fen dissolved into giggles when he did.

As if she heard her name, Da'fen looks up and smiles radiantly when she catches his eye. 

"Why do you want me to learn how to read?" Cole asks, gaining the attention of both. Da'fen hums quietly, and Solas perks up a bit. She'd been working with Cole to train his gifts, and Solas marveled at her ingenuity with each new lesson she gave him. That particular hum from her let Cole know that he could read her, and she would focus on something for him to put into words. Solas always enjoyed being nearby when it happened, because despite being so close to her, he knew few of her secrets.

_"Creaking of wood under my feet fighting for dominance with the sound of the mainsail snapping over my head. Straining of my muscles as me and three others push against the heavy turn-pull, hauling up the anchor. The vision of my hands on wood flashes memories of my long ago youth in my eyes of being scared of splinters. Now calluses on my hands and feet keep them away. The ship dips and rocks as the anchor hauls free, and there's a salty spray of water on my face._

"I don't know what you want me to understand." Cole admits dejectedly. But Da'fen is smiling triumphantly.

"How clear was my memory Cole?"

"Very bright. Clearer than many I see."

"Excellent. But you want to know something? I've never been to sea."

It takes even Solas a few beats before he sees what she's getting at.

"But it was clear, a memory." Cole says, turning to look at her in confusion.

"It was a memory of me  _reading_ , baby. That whole memory was something I envisioned while I was reading a book about a sailor. I want you to be able to do the same thing."

"But if some memories aren't mine, how do I stay me?" he asks worriedly.

Da'fen kisses his cheek. "That's the best part about reading. You'll never lose a piece of you, but you'll always  _find_ a piece of you somewhere in the pages."

Cole nods and Da'fen looks up at Solas again, a smile slowly creeping across her face.

_"Bored, bored, bored. Restless. Need...something. Restless. Fifth piece of paper balled. Bounced across his head and near the wastebasket. A game now. Solas losing patience. Still restless, still need...balls another paper. Throws it. Solas' sharp voice cuts across the rotunda, and his eyes are fierce in his impatience. Heart races, breath catches, muscles tense. Restless, excited, need. Solas tilts his head. Slowly balances weight on other foot, catch his attention. C'mon, Solas, play with me! A slow step in my direction, testing, teasing. Then movement. Muscles coil as I make my escape, giggling madly as Solas gives chase."_

Da'fen blushes all the way to the tips of her ears, but she had not stopped him. They'd come to realize it's a frustrating sensation to him, like being denied to scratch an itch, and Solas catches his breath at the revealed secret. He also remembered that day in the rotunda. He'd thought she'd picked up bad habits from Sera in her cabin fever, but he'd have never guessed it was a cry for attention before finally looking up at her. He'd watched her eyes light up, and he'd heard her breath catch that day and it had made him pause and actually wonder what she could be wanting. 

He found out when he caught her on the battlements near that unused tower. He had groaned when her lips found his and before he could stop himself he'd hauled her inside and ravished her for the first time against a wall. The guard they'd startled on the way out had stammered before fleeing to the rest of his patrol route. 

Solas gazed at her for several moments before they were interrupted by a Chantry sister.

"Get a room!"


	38. Varric: Intimate Moment

Varric wishes she'd cuddle.

He's almost miffed that he's being denied it. He could have her panting and moaning for hours. She could ride him until they were both exhausted. But she never once lay down afterwards and let him pull her close. And he wanted to badly. He wanted to feel her warmth wrapped in his arms, to play in her hair, to wake up with limbs tangled together. It was starting to hurt, how she kept herself closed off from him. It left him confused and lonely.

Instead, she forced herself to draw a bath, pumping the water up through that complicated set of pipes she'd had Josephine install, or she'd sit at that big desk of hers and write letters and reports. 

And Varric knows she forces herself away from him. She sighs every time she turns away from him. She sits on the edge of the bed a moment longer every time. She gazes longingly at him when she thinks he isn't looking. She wants to as badly as he does, but she's keeping herself away.

One night his will finally breaks, and he quietly begs her to stay, unshed tears in his eyes. 

She's turned away, but he watches her own tear glide across the curve of her cheek.

"I can't," she whispers. 

 _"Please,"_ his voice cracks. "Please don't leave again. I can't stand you always keeping a part of yourself away from me. Please."

She shakes her head. "It isn't fair."

That stops him in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

"I can't give all of myself to you, when you've never given all of yourself to me. Because you'll choose her, like you always have, and I'll be left with nothing."jj

Varric's breath hitches. Any words he might have said die in his throat.

"I can't allow myself to do that," Da'fen whispers, "I'm not strong enough to deal with it when you leave."

As she stands and moves to the tub without looking at him, Varric finally lets the tears fall.


	39. Cullen: Intimate Moment

Cullen smiles as fingers tease in the nest of curls that run from his navel to his groin. It's a rare morning that Da'fen rises before him. She'd sleep until noon if Josie didn't send Cassandra to snatch her out of bed. Well, she  _used_ to anyway. Now Cullen is left to coax his love out of her ridiculously massive four poster bed every morning. A job made easier by the scent of a mug of cocoa. He usually has a tray of foods fresh from the kitchen as well. 

Today, however, Da'fen presses her face to his ribs and breathes deeply before sighing blissfully. She snuggles in closer to him, lazily drawing what was left of her left leg over his knee. The fingers tease lower.

"We have work to do today," he admonishes her with no real effort.

The fingers swirl lower still.

"I have a whole new batch of recruits-"

Lower.

"Josie is expecting dignitaries-"

Lower. 

He groans, "There are new mages to tr-  _Maker's breath!"_

Half an hour later, Cullen is released from Da'fen's smug clutches and she joins him in sitting on the edge of the bed, her good leg wrapped around his back, the other sitting in his lap. He massages it idly as she reaches for his ever lengthening hair. 

"I like this," she murmurs, lips pressed against the skin of his arms. "Let it keep growing."

"Haven't you mentioned that Tir'Alas had long hair?" Cullen asks. He still wasn't sure about her and the mystery man's relationship, but she was clearly fond of him and Cullen is happy that Da'fen trusts him enough to start mentioning her past piece by piece. 

"He could sit on it when I left. It's probably down to his knees by now." She looked contemplative...and homesick.

Cullen hesitates. He'd been wanting to do something for her for a while, but had held back due to selfish reasons. He was mildly jealous of this Tir'alas and he didn't quite want to share Da'fen, but Tir'alas obviously is a big part of her life and Cullen didn't want her to go without that. Besides, Cullen was  _also_ a big part of her life and he trusted that he would be for a long time. He makes up his mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Da'fen asks. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"I have a letter to write."


	40. Solas: Secret

 

The fade is different tonight. Something lay nearby. Solas checks the camp for anything unusual. Cassandra and Iron Bull slept quietly nearby, dreaming softly. Da'fen was not in her tent. Worriedly, Solas reaches out with his aura. At first he doesn't sense her at all, heart pounding in his chest. After a moment the barest brush of her flickers around him. The trail is difficult to follow, and once he gets turned around. But he does it.

His steps falter when he finds her, nearly a mile from the Dalish camp, and his heart starts to race.

There she sat, sprawled across a statue of Fen'harel as if it were the finest Orlesian couch Josephine could find. She has her back pressed against the curved back leg of the wolf, feet propped on its elbow, and she stares up at the stars. Solas approaches slowly, and from his place on the ground next to her, looks up at the stars as well. Da'fen's aura fluctuates every once in a while, an involuntary habit she has when she is thinking deeply. Solas waits patiently; she'll talk when she's ready. It's a few minutes before she breaks the silence.

"This guy saved my life one night." Her voice is low, almost inaudible. Solas can hear his blood rush at her admission. "My mother died in childbirth. My father fell to bandits when I was seven. He was an outsider - Dalish, but from a different clan - and the clan children picked up on their parents' feelings towards him, and aimed those same feelings towards me. One night a group of them ambushed me on my way back from hunting - Tir'alas and I were already living outside the camp at the time - and gave me a thrashing. One though, she was a few years older. She had a look in her eye that made my stomach drop. I knew I had to get away."

Absently, a hand lifts and drags the back of her knuckles across the smooth stone of the carving, as if giving the animal a gentle caress. 

"I broke free of them, and ran like demons were on my trail. I remember seeing nothing but trees all around me and then suddenly everything opened up, and Fen'harel was there, looking down at me. I scrambled atop the statue. I knew they'd be too superstitious to climb up after me. They taunted me and threw rocks for hours, but eventually they gave up and went back. Tir'alas found me asleep on the big guy's back the next morning. He called me Da'fen ever since."

Solas reaches up and takes her by the hand, thumb tracing over her skin. He remembers with a faint smile the irony he felt when he'd learned her name was literally 'Little Wolf' and compares it to the irony of now. 

"Why weren't you living in the camp?" Solas asks, his voice as equally low as Da'fen's had been. He's afraid of breaking whatever nostalgia has her opening up to him, but he's also hoping to hear a little bit more about her.

"Tir'alas - back then it was just  _Alas_ \- and I were outsiders. He was five years older than me, barely in his manhood, but he could already look the Keeper in the eye. He was just as different as I was. We were bullied and ridiculed to the point that we just left to live on our own. Deshanna was first while I was growing up. She was the only one who tried. She was the only reason we even stayed near the camp. She would trade with us, and offer us little odd jobs, like retrieving missing halla. It was our own folly to do so."

Her hand tightens in his and her breath comes a little harder.

"The old Keeper discovered we both had magic. He tricked us with sweet words. Brought us back into the camp. Deshanna was ecstatic, but there was something about the Keeper that made me uneasy. He got Tir'alas while I was away hunting. I came back and he had vallaslin across his forehead. Everyone celebrated, but something still didn't feel right to me. It wasn't long after that when the Keeper said it would be my turn. I was still uncertain, but things had settled down for a while, I thought we were safe."

Solas' blood runs cold; this is going nowhere good.

"The day before I was supposed to get my vallaslin, I overheard something I wasn't supposed to hear. Apparently, the old Keeper just wanted us to get our vallaslin so he could marry us off at the next clan gathering. It wouldn't have been so bad; we had already been determined to leave. But that night I had a dream. I watched as Fen'harel ran across a great open field, hundreds of elves running behind him in celebration. Not a single one had vallaslin. He saw me, and beckoned me to join them. When I hesitated, he ran to meet me. When he saw my vallaslin, he threw back his head and he  _cried._ I was so shaken the next morning that I tried to put off getting the marks. Even went as far as to blaspheme, but the Keeper held me down and I was forced to take the marks."

Solas feels his heart breaking all over again. This was the entire reason why he destroyed the world in the first place. To stop people from being forced into something they never wanted. He calms his breathing before he speaks. 

"What did you mean, when you said you blasphemed?"

"I asked a question." Her fingers trail over the statue again.  _"Why doesn't Fen'harel have vallaslin?_ The look the Keeper gave me was murderous."

Solas hesitates, but in the end, decides to tell her. His voice is barely as whisper as he admits, "It's because the vallaslin are slave markings, and Fen'harel did not keep slaves."

He reaches to pull her close as she begins to cry.


	41. Varric: Secret

Varric smirks into the rim of his cup. He's pulled all of his bullshitting cards from his various pockets, but by Andraste, he's done it. Everyone, even Da'fen, are having the time of their lives in the tavern tonight. Da'fen and  _Cassandra_ of all people had already been up on the table singing a bawdy tavern song to the squeals of mirth of their friends. Bull and his Chargers had stomped out the rhythm and chimed in with the chorus. Three songs in the girls left it to the professionals, and the Chargers happily carried on where they left off. Da'fen sat nursing her mug, ruddy faced and humming along.

Eventually, the hour grew late and the rowdy and the early birds turn in. Those left swap stories over a game of wicked grace. Iron Bull tells how he lost the eye. Cassandra admits to an improper infatuation during her youth. Sera tells about the craziest drop gone sour she's ever done. 

Da'fen's turn comes around but Varric isn't sure she has anything to add. Her head rests on one arm as she traces the rim of her mug absently. But she giggles quietly, in a mad way that sends a warning to Varric's ears.

"All of this. Wouldn't be here. No Herald, no Inquisition, no world. None of it would exist if I hadn't lost the baby." 

She burps and starts humming a tune, oblivious to the silence that's befallen the table. 

"Will be good for you, Deshanna said. Need some air, she said. It'll be quick, she said. Back for the bonding in no time, she said. But then boom! Green hand and no time to go back."

She hums some more and Varric forces himself to move. "Alright, sleepy head. That's enough mood killing for you. You are up past your bedtime and you know Josephine gets fussy when you have spots under your eyes."

She mumbles as he starts shifting her and Cassandra half stands out of her chair. "Do you need help with her?" she asks, brows drawn down in worry.

"I've got her, thank you though. Just gonna tuck her in and let her sleep it off. She might not remember it tomorrow, but she will definitely be visiting Solas for a potion in the morning."

Cassandra nods and Varric pulls Da'fen into his arms and starts the trip up to her quarters. He pulls her day clothes off of her and slips her favorite big shirt on her and tucks the covers her up. He brushes the hair back from her face and moves around the room, taking care of the nightly routine she normally would have done. Close the balcony doors. Stoke the fire. Sort reports. Collect the clothes scattered across the floor and separate into clean and dirty piles. At the end, he left his water canteen and a small potion on the nightstand. A very expensive Antivan urn was placed next to the bed for convenience. And despite knowing he shouldn't, he kissed her temple on the way out.

He didn't return to his own bunk immediately. He wound his way to the rotunda and found Solas at his desk poring over a book, a single candle lit. Perfect, just who Varric needed.

"Solas, something has come up and I need to ask you a question. I don't think I can wait for Da'fen to wake up to get the answer." His voice is quiet enough that only Solas could hear, even in the echoing room.

Solas closes his book and settles back in his chair, crossing his ankles and lacing his fingers. The look he gives Varric is flat and dry.

"You are wondering if Da'fen could be pregnant."

Varric opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"How did you know?"

"Would you really not have wondered after her admitting something like losing a babe?"

"Got me there, Chuckles. So what's the answer to the question?"

"No."

"Be we, erm, haven't exactly been trying to avoid it."

"I am aware. Just as I am aware that the two of you aren't compatible."

"How do you know that elves and dwarves aren't compatible?"

"I didn't say elves and dwarves. Halflings are rare, but they're out there. What I said was  _the two of you_ aren't compatible."

"I'm not following, Chuckles."

Solas tilts his head in a thinking pose. It's maddening because Da'fen often does the same.

"It's different for mages, Varric. It's something innate magic just  _does_. Theories abound that it's defensive, but none truly know."

Solas' eyes on Varric let him know it wasn't good news.

"Mages have to be able to envision a family with their partners, or their magic simply won't let them conceive."

Something must have shown on Varric's face, because Solas reached across the desk to grip his shoulder. His eyes were kind and knowing.

"I'm sorry, Varric."

Varric nods and thanks Solas, and numbly walks back to his bunk.


	42. Cullen: Secret

Cullen smiles at Da'fen's squeals of mirth as he tickles her sides, before stopping so he can press kisses to her nose. The sun had dipped below the mountains almost an hour ago, but Da'fen didn't mind the balcony doors being open to let in an early summer breeze. Her skin was cool to the touch, but Cullen had stoked up the fire and was under the covers with her to keep her warm.

As her giggles die off, he lightly traces the scar crossing over her cheek. Fingers light and easy, he gathers the courage to ask a question he's had from the first time he met her.

"Where did you get this?"

"Tir'alas snagged me by accident while we were sparring one day. He favors a modified type of lance and the edge just did catch me as I was dodging."

Cullen's fingers travel over the slash over her eye.

"And this one?"

"Fighting off bandits and one got lucky. Would've lost the eye but for Tir'alas practicing his healing after the bear trap."

Fingers trail down and over her cheek, and Cullen can see the hesitation on her face when they trace over the scar on her jawline. It's different than the others. Not a clean and even line. It's jagged and crooks up at the end, and severe enough as a scar that Cullen knows it was deep when it was inflicted. He's not sure she'll answer, but he doesn't think he can stop himself from asking.

"This one?"

She does hesitate, but trusts him in the end, voice quiet as she admits, "From the old Keeper. I blasphemed the day I got my vallaslin. I didn't want them. I was trying to stop it. But I was forced to take the marks. A few days later, the Keeper caught me alone. Held me down and started cutting me. Told me since I wasn't fit to wear the vallaslin then he'd just take them back...by skinning my face. It's crooked because I was fighting."

She falls silent and breathes deeply before swallowing. "That was the day I met Violence. The first time I used blood magic. I killed the old Keeper, and before I could even throw up my guts at what I'd done, I was assaulted again, this time by the demon. He attacked me with everything he had. Seemed like my head was going to split open. I was on the verge of killing myself. Sometimes I think that's what he was after. I don't know how long I fought with him, but I screamed until I couldn't speak anymore. Finally, when he couldn't take what he wanted by force, he offered me a bargain. I was young and terrified, but the visions he'd shown me in my head made sure I knew I couldn't let him go. I couldn't let something like that just wander freely."

Cullen kisses all of her scars and waits patiently as she cries.


	43. Solas: Ritual

Solas had barely risen and washed his face when Da’fen came rushing into his small alcove room just off the rotunda. She was still road weary and her cheeks were flushed with the cold, and it appeared she hadn’t done much sleeping the night before.

 

“Good, you’re awake already. I thought I might have to drag you out of bed.” She shoves a rolled parchment at him. “Get dressed and head to the mage’s tower and bring those items down to the courtyard immediately. Grab a couple of intermediates to help you. I have other preparations to make.”

 

She was already turned and walking away when he nodded his head. He unrolls the parchment and glances over the list. Specific herbs, chalk, crystals...this was a summoner’s list. For a large summoning circle. But some of these items were forbidden in summoning, why would she…?

 

Solas’ blood runs cold. The blood ritual. It must be time for her annual ritual to maintain her binding. Solas knew he’d see it in person one day but now that the day had arrived he’s terrified. They hadn’t exactly gone over everything that’s entailed in her ritual. So he had no idea what counted as success or failure. 

 

He breathes slowly and calms himself. If Da’fen trusted him enough for this then he would be there every step of the way. For now, he had ingredients to gather. 

 

Once in the courtyard, two senior mages at his back, Solas immediately notices the differences Da’fen has made. There were no civilians in sight. The gate was barred. There would be no visitors today. And it seems that Da’fen is taking full advantage of her Inquisitor title and the resources that it grants her. Not only did she have enough supplies for three circles just in mage crafts, she had every templar in the castle gathered in the courtyard. 

 

Solas watches as a group of them huddle around a small table, where Da’fen and Cullen were poring over notes and making corrections as ideas surfaced from the veterans around them. The Chargers also stood nearby, dressed and ready for combat. The Iron Bull did not look happy in the slightest, but he did nod appreciatively at Da’fen’s preparedness. Others of the inner circle stood with the Chargers, but they were a quiet bunch; faces tight with worry and eyes flickering all around them.

 

Da’fen senses Solas as his small group approaches and glances up. She nods at the collected supplies and says to Cullen, “Alright, my mages are here. We’re going to lay down the foundation circle. Varric!” She waves him over and when he joins them she says, “Take this parchment. This is a diagram of the circle we will be making.Your job is to make sure we do it perfectly. As we go about laying down this summoning circle I want you to watch us like a hawk. I don’t want a single warbled, smudged, or interrupted line. If anything is wrong with the circle,  _ it will not hold _ . Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Varric took the parchment with a grim face.

Da’fen catches Solas’ eye. 

 

“Vhenan, you’re job is to maintain a barrier outside of the summoning circle. Preferably as thick as you can make it. You are to hold this barrier at all costs. The ritual will be long and it will be harsh. I will endure it.  _ Do not  _ let your barrier fall for my sake.”

 

Solas swallows thickly and nods.

 

“Cullen, behind Solas’ barrier I want the templars to have a barrier as well. On top of the added support, I want you to do a purging when I give you the okay. We will need shifts established; this ritual lasts three days. If I live by the fourth sunrise, the pact is renewed for another year.”

 

Cullen nods solemnly and begins setting out shifts to his messenger as Da’fen barks for Iron Bull. He walks over quietly, taking it all in.

 

“Bull, the Chargers and the inner circle are the last defense. You are in charge of all of them. Should anything happen, kill me. You don’t like demons so I know you won’t hesitate. Don’t give the others a chance to hesitate either. Understood?”

 

“Yes, boss.” he rumbles, and even Solas could see the worry on his brow. 

 

Da’fen’s face is grim. “Let’s get started.”


	44. Varric: Ritual

Varric’s heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the summoning circles lines be drawn on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Early morning in the brisk mountain air, and he still had a line of sweat drip down his cheek as he focused all his concentration on making sure not one curve was misplaced. Even after all of their troubles, she still trusted him with a job like this. He wouldn’t let her down.

 

Although in reality, no one could afford for something to go wrong.

 

It took most of the morning for the preparations to be perfected. Once the third and fourth double checks were finished, Da’fen gave some last minute commands.

 

“When I step into the circle, the mages will activate it’s barrier. Upon completion of the barrier, the mages will step back, with the exclusion of Solas. He is going to layer his own barrier behind the circle. Once that is complete, the templars will begin their barrier as well. Do so about five feet behind Solas so he can move freely about the circle to check and maintain the integrity of both barriers. These coming days will be grueling, but do not, under any circumstances, let the barriers fall. This is not some random demon we are keeping at bay, ladies and gentlemen, this is an entity older than Arlathan. There is no room for errors of any kind. Once inside, I’ll be dozing to try to catch up on some lost sleep. Maintain the barriers even then. I’m vulnerable once I’m in the Fade, and this bastard has tried taking me in my sleep before. He will undoubtedly try again. Any questions?”

 

Cullen clears his throat and says, “Perhaps milady should go over the terms of the ritual so the soldiers aren’t caught unawares.”

 

Varric watches as some silent communication passes between Da’fen and Cullen, and realizes Cullen knows exactly what is about to happen. The grim determination on the Commander’s face made fear slither down Varric’s spine. Da’fen nods after a moment.

 

“The pact is thus: three days of trials. If I live by the fourth sunrise, he imparts knowledge to me and remains bound to me for the next year. If I die, he will be set loose. If he breaks my mind, he will possess me. The trials are a violent affair. No matter what happens to me, no one is to break rank. If I survive, I will give Commander Cullen the signal to begin the purging. Afterwards, we will be in the clear. Does everyone understand?”

 

Nods all around and Da’fen takes in a shaky breath. 

 

“Very well. A final word of caution; the trials will not only focus on me. He will try to turn you. You will hear whispers, maybe he will beset you with visions. If he does and you aren’t sure you can withstand him, step back and let another take your place. We have the people to do so, don’t do anything stupid. I’m stepping into the circle now. As soon as I do, we begin.”

 

As Da’fen walked across the courtyard, the gathered group held their breath. She made a quick jump over the chalk line and as soon as her slender feet touched the ground the countdown began.


	45. Cullen: Ritual

Cullen walks with Sir Barris among the templars as they chanted in a slow, steady rhythm. They murmur quietly to each other and with Solas, always on guard to maintain all three barriers. The Chargers and the inner circle have spread out around the circle, and straggling templars stood about, ready to take a tiring comrade’s place if necessary.

 

The moon has begun to set, and though Cullen has not slept, he is not tired. He is wired with anxiety and worry, and his eyes flicker to where Da’fen lay sleeping behind the barrier. She’d slept fitfully, and he wished he could smooth the hair back from her face. Despite having the best of any preparations that could be made, unease still prickled at the edge of his awareness. The quiet is making him as nervous as the fact that he’s condoning blood magic. The soldiers were likewise on edge, and he did his best to calm them and himself.

 

The sky had just begun lightening from inky black to deep blue when the hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck stood up, and his old templar senses felt something flying at them at an incredible speed. Before he could even call a warning, it had blown through all of them and slammed into Da’fen where she lay sleeping.

 

The scream that it ripped from her stopped his heart, and he watched in absolute agony as she screamed again and again and clawed at her head and face with enough force to draw blood. Wild magic flared around her as the creature assaulted her mind. Where it touched the barrier of the circle, it left miniscule cracks.

 

As soon as one appeared, Solas was there, chanting determinedly and fixing it seamlessly. Cullen breathed deeply several times, and he forced himself to steady his troops. He knew what this would entail. They had spent many a night going over it so that he would not be unprepared. 

 

Didn’t stop Da’fen’s screams from reverberating through his bones. 

 

The next several hours were mind numbing. Da’fen’s screams would pause long enough for her to babble in elvish, and she fell unconscious several times. Her voice grew ever more hoarse until she couldn’t even scream anymore. And Cullen had to grit his teeth through everything. The one thing helping him survive his own personal hell was the fact that she trusted him not to do anything stupid. She trusted him with his end of the ritual, and he swore he would trust her with hers. 

 

Evening of the first day was creeping upon them when Da’fen lay still and the night air fell silent save for the chanting. Cullen’s breath seizes in his chest. Was she dead? No, if she had died they would know by now. So what was the point in this reprieve?

 

Cullen got his answer as the first whisper skittered across his mind. 

 

“Steady! The beast tests us now! Do not let it break your resolve! Call for a reliever if necessary, but maintain the barrier!” he cries over the heads of the chanting templars. 

Even as he gave the orders, the whispers grew numerous in his own head, goading him and trying to make him do something reckless. Unfortunately for the creature, he has survived the same at the Ferelden circle, and he ignores the drivel with an irritated flicker of his mental powers.

 

“Steady!” he calls again, and lets the confidence he felt at this trial carry through his tone. 

 

They suffered through the night, but Cullen is secretly glad to draw the attention away from Da’fen. It didn’t last forever.

 

Cullen is feeling the strain of ignoring his sleep deprived body by the second sunrise, but it didn’t stop him from seeing a black cloud crackling with magic separate from Da’fen as she stood to her feet. She sways, but doesn’t fall, and that gives Cullen hope. But even with that hope came despair.

 

The black cloud became solid, and formed into the shape of an elven man. He was massive for an elf, standing even taller than Cullen, and wore an intricately woven set of scaled mail that Cullen has never seen before. The man’s silver eyes - made even more ensnaring with black sclera and slit pupils - are glacial over a straight and defined nose, his full lips curl with malice, and his chiseled chin lifts with disdain. Sleek blonde hair falls in a single wave to cut neatly at the tops of his shoulders, and his pointed ears peek out without disturbing a single strand. 

 

The creature is beautiful, in every cruel sense of the word.

 

“What is this insolence?” it intones in a baritone that rumbles through the very stones beneath his feet.

 

Da’fen smiles at the creature.

 

“I’ve made some friends since last we met. They’ll ensure nothing goes wrong here today.”

 

The creature has Da’fen lifted by her throat before Cullen can blink. Cullen’s gut seizes when it leans in close to her face and breathes deeply. 

 

“I almost cannot believe my eyes.” the voice is harsh enough to cut through stone. “I look around me and see nothing but a ragtag group of scavengers, but you have utter faith in these vermin. So much so that you look at me with insolence in your eyes.”

 

It pauses to glare into her eyes. 

 

“No,” it says, “this is not insolence. This is outright  _ defiance. _ ”

 

It strides to the barrier and slams her against it. Da’fen screams again as the magic crackles over her like lightning. The creature slams her into it several times, cracking it, but Solas is there with that determined invocation, and the barrier is repaired before the creature drops Da’fen to the ground. 

 

She gasps for breath and coughs, rubbing her throat where a bruise is already forming. 

 

“What makes you think that I won’t slaughter these pathetic quicklings and scrub you through their corpses?” it hisses and gives her a swift kick in the ribs. 

 

When she can breathe, Da’fen laughs and yells defiantly, “Fool! Even I know you can’t get past the  _ somniari _ !”

 

The creature whips around and stares at Solas with wide eyes, who raises his chin with an arrogance he doesn’t usually show. Silver eyes trail from Solas to the mark on Da’fen’s hand. It hisses in frustration.

 

“It seems you have learned something from our time together. This is interesting indeed.”

 

Without further notice, the creature begins throwing spells at Da’fen, and Da’fen returns the favor with more strength than any watching thought she had left in her. Lightning, fire, and ice clash with a booming sound louder than thunder over the mountains. Da’fen ducks, twists, dodges, flickers, and fade steps around the beast’s attacks, and Cullen holds his breath. He’s not sure anyone here has even seen some of the spells these two were tossing like rocks across a water’s surface. 

 

But even with all her clever tricks, Da’fen takes hits. Cuts, welts, bruises, and burns begin appearing across her skin. Cullen tallies each one in his head with worry. Some were already fatal. Yet she fought on. He didn’t know how she was doing it. She’s slipping on her own blood as it pools in the cracks between the cobblestones. 

 

He’s not even aware that the second day has passed, he’s so wound up with worry and dread. It only clicks when they leave off the magic fighting to begin martial fighting. The creature would summon a weapon, and Da’fen would mirror him before they closed in a flurry of blades. At least there’s that question answered. None would doubt her martial prowess after this. 

 

She took more and more hits. In two places Cullen could see bone and gore. Several people have vomited at the display, and two holding the barrier pass out from the shock of it. They are replaced immediately. For a moment, Cullen is afraid.

 

Then, the sun peeks out over the top of the horizon, and the gruesome attacks on Da’fen stop. The creature stands there, and watches with a condescending eye as Da’fen struggles to her knees. She breathes deep, clothes shredded, soaking in blood, but the ritual isn’t finished. She’s lost her prosthetic again, and wobbles before sitting back on her heels with her face to the sky.

 

“By the grace of the moon, my trial is complete!

By the light of the sun, I yet live!”

 

She swallows heavily, and struggles to catch her breath.

 

“By mine own bones, you are mine once again!

By mine own blood, I bind thee to me

_ Geldauran!” _

 

The blood on the stones swarms Geldauran as he shrieks in anger. Blood wraps tight around him like a sheet, and the shriek is cut off. A nasty looking black blade with ragged edges falls to the ground where he had stood. 

 

With a last flare of mana, Da’fen banishes the blade. As soon as she does, mana stored within it crashes into her, healing all of her physical wounds. She slumps to the ground, laid flat on her stomach. Cullen watches as her hand reaches for him, and a weak brush of magic lets him know it’s time. 

 

“Templars!  _ Purge! _ ” 

 

As soon as he learns that the purge was successful and Solas has dropped his barrier, Cullen is sliding on his knees to reach her. He lifts her unconscious form and pulls her close.

 

And thanks the Maker that she lives.


	46. Solas: Tir'alas

Solas startles when Varric slams the door to the rotunda wide open.

 

“Chuckles! Get out here! There’s some crazy elf out here demanding a duel with Da’fen!”

 

Solas is running alongside him before he even finishes his sentence, his long, loping strides quickly overtaking the dwarf. He drops off the ledge of the first flight of stairs and is running towards where he can see Cullen standing resolutely in front of the intruder, but Iron Bull moves his bulk in the way and Solas pulls up short.

 

“Hold on, Solas, there’s something going on here. Something’s different about this one. Let’s wait on the boss.”

 

Solas nods then gets his first look at the man, and his breath catches in his throat.

 

“Andraste’s tits, he’s tall enough to look Cullen in the eye. Is he mixed?”

 

“No, look at his ears. If he had a human parent he’d have rounded ears. He’s fully elvhen.” Solas says with awe, and all he could think of looking at the warrior are the Emerald Knights. He remembers the protectors of Arlathan towering over him even into his adulthood, their practical eyes watching his rambunctiousness and arrogance with knowing, but never passing judgment. They’d always known he’d have his own lessons to temper him.

 

“Cullen.”

 

Da’fen’s voice rings out over the courtyard with an authority that freezes every other fidgeting person in it. Heads turn as Cullen looks back over his shoulder, and Solas’ heart flutters when he sees her standing on the stairs, in her armor and with dual daggers tucked at her back. She drops down into the courtyard with ease, and gives Cullen a nod.

 

He steps aside without protest, and the warrior shouts across the courtyard in elvish.

 

“Translation, Chuckles?” Varric asks, eyes flickering between the two as they both draw their weapons.

 

“He calls for a duel of grievance. Looks like they’re just going to fight out their differences.”

 

But even as he said it, he knew something was different about this fight. There was an energy in the air, almost a tenderness or intimacy, and something about it made Solas’ stomach drop. Da’fen met the intruder with blades, and the difference in her fighting with him is immediate. Usually her power is prevalent even against foes twice her size, but this man met her blow for blow, and his agility matched hers. It wasn’t so much a duel as it was a dance.

 

A dangerous dance, as the warrior’s lance made contact with Da’fen’s shoulder. It didn’t pierce her armor, but it was enough to knock her off balance and give him a chance to knock her off her feet. He gently lays his lance on the side of her throat and she raises her chin in acknowledgement.

 

He drops the lance and holds his hand out to her; she takes it and lets him pull her up, leaving her daggers on the cobblestones. The warrior pulls her into a tight hug and they murmur quietly to each other. Solas watches in horror as the man plants a kiss on her nose, both cheeks, and several on her newly bare forehead before gently placing his lips on hers. Tears streak down Da’fen’s face.

 

Their foreheads meet in a gesture of intimacy, and Solas hears him mutter, “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

 

Solas’ heart stops, and he wonders what the hell is going on.

  
“So,” Iron Bull’s voice stops Solas from doing something stupid, “ _ that’s  _ Tir’alas.”


	47. Varric: Tir'alas

Varric isn’t sure what to make of the new addition to Skyhold. He’d assumed that since Da’fen had never returned to her clan after the Conclave that any romantic interests she’d had were gone. She certainly wasn’t hesitant when he started flirting with her. But the fact that Tir’alas walked in and right back into his spot in Da’fen’s heart is leaving Varric shaken.

 

Could he be thrown away so easily?

 

Of course, Varric wasn’t exactly a strong tie in her life right now. He can’t even remember when the last time he slept in her bed was. When dealing with him she’d gone back to the cool politeness of a stranger. And the worst part is that he knows he can’t complain. He’d been holding her at arm’s length for so long that when he finally realized he wanted to pull her closer the roles switched, and  _ she  _ was the one holding him at arm’s length now. 

 

And even though he wants Da’fen, he can’t seem to let Bianca go. Even though he can’t fully have her either. Varric winces; it’s a parallel of sorts. He can’t fully have Bianca, and Da’fen can’t fully have him. He groans as he realizes just how much of a nughumping shitstorm the whole situation actually is. 

 

“Troubles, Ser Tethras?”

 

Varric swears loudly as his hand jerks across the parchment and blots ink on the page. He turns to glare at the intruder...only to have his heart jump into his throat. 

 

Tir’alas leans on the door leading into the rotunda, a low burning fire lighting the near waist length black hair of the elven man. His equally dark eyes watch him almost dismissively from under a slightly furrowed brow. He isn’t in his armor now. Instead he wears a pair of breeches that don’t reach his ankles, and a large white shirt that Varric recognizes as Da’fen’s favorite. His feet are bare.

 

Varric turns back to his parchment and attempts to clean the ink blot with a kerchief.

 

“How sad is it that a writer is struggling to find words?” he chuckles humorlessly. He had been attempting to complete another chapter in his latest book, but he couldn’t keep his mind focused.

 

“That is a problem indeed.” Tir’alas says, and Varric can hear him push off of the wall and slip around the table before sitting opposite the dwarf. Varric is wary; he hasn’t really spent any time with the man, nor has he spent any time listening to the others talk about him.

 

“Unfortunately,” Tir’alas says as he stretches his length out on the bench, “I’m afraid I’m not here to help you with the book. I’m here to talk.”

 

Varric sighs and lays his quill down and takes off his glasses. When he finally looks up at Tir’alas again, the other man doesn’t hesitate.

 

“Why are you running from Da’fen?”

 

Varric nearly chokes; he hadn’t expected that. Or, well he might have but not near so  _ bluntly _ .

 

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Varric asks in an attempt to drop the subject.

 

“Anything that affects my vhenan’s happiness is absolutely necessary for me to investigate. I know she was no fling to you, Tethras. You would have never touched her skin if she thought you were a waste of her time. So tell me, why are you still fighting when you clearly want to go back to her?” 

 

Tir’alas’ eyes bore into Varric, and Varric glances at his crossbow. It is not lost on Tir’alas.

 

“Ah, the  _ other _ woman. The one who is already married, that you only see every ten years, the one that loosed red lyrium on the world. Why do you continue to hurt yourself over someone you’ll never have when Da’fen could actually make you happy? What in the creater’s name is going on in your head?”

 

“I don’t recall having to explain myself to you.” Varric mutters darkly. Tir’alas isn’t impressed.

 

“No, you don’t have to explain yourself. But this is your  _ final _ chance, Varric. Are you absolutely certain that you don’t want to even try? This can be fixed, but you have to want to fix it. Anyone can see the way you look at her, the way you’re pining after her. So  _ why aren’t you trying _ ?”

 

Varric is silent; he didn’t even have an answer. He’s still holding back. Still afraid of something? Still clinging to the familiar security of the excuse that was Bianca? He has no idea. Apparently, his silence is enough.

 

Tir’alas sighs, nods, and gets up, heading down the throne room to the door to Da’fen’s quarters. Varric watches him with envy until the door slid closed behind him. With a sigh, he turns back to his parchment. He certainly wasn’t getting any sleep tonight so he might as well try to get some writing done.

 

Though, he doubted he was going to get any writing done either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more Varric after this. But don't worry, there are plans ;)


	48. Cullen: Tir'alas

Cullen is in the middle of cleaning up after Da’fen’s ritual when a flushed scout finds him. It takes a few minutes for Cullen to even notice her as he orders for the mages to collect any summoning supplies to be set aside for inspection. If anything can be reused, it will be. Strong as the Inquisition is they aren’t really hurting for resources, but their humble beginnings keep them frugal anyway.

 

Cullen finally spots the messenger and waves her over.

 

“Someone has requested to see you sir. He has a letter with your seal on it saying you asked him to come.”

 

Cullen nods, knowing who it is, and tells the messenger, “Aye, send him on in.”

 

He’s going over notes with the templars when he feels the prickle of magic over his skin. The templars do as well, and tense.

 

“Easy, lads, he’s a friend.” Cullen says and looks over his shoulders. The elven man has waist length black hair and is wearing chainmail; a lance is strapped to his back. He watches the flurry of activity curiously.

 

“Tir’alas! Over here!” 

 

Onyx eyes slide to Cullen, and an equally dark eyebrow raises in an uncannily similar fashion to Da’fen. But he comes forward with quick, sure steps before pausing at Cullen’s side.

 

“Commander Cullen, I presume?” he asks, eyeing Cullen up and down.

 

“Aye. You just missed vhenan’s ritual. We’re cleaning up now. She made it through fine and she’s resting in her quarters. Throne room, last door on the left, and up the stairs. I’ll bring some food when I finish here.”

 

Worry had creased Tir’alas’ face when he heard about the ritual, but now he nods and slips away quickly. 

 

It takes Cullen an hour to finish debriefing with everyone, and they finally open the gates and visitors start trickling in again. He slips up the side stairs in the courtyard and into the kitchen. Cook loads him up a basket of extra foodstuffs from the last few days and he makes his way to their quarters. He nearly trips as he reaches the top of the stairs and glances down to find a discarded boot. The trail of armor in the floor leads to the bed, where he can see Tir’alas glancing at him from over the top of Da’fen’s head.

 

“Sorry, I’ll have an armor stand brought up for you. We were busy with the ritual for days and before that I wasn’t sure when you were going to arrive.”

 

Tir’alas manages to look sheepish as Cullen carefully steps over the strewn armor and stands next to the bed so he can lean down to kiss Da’fen’s forehead.

 

“You asked him to come?” she asks quietly. She sniffles and Cullen knows she’s been crying a bit.

 

“Of course I did, you need him.”

 

She rolls over to smile at him and says, “You’re magnificent.”

 

“Come now, we both know you’re only saying that because I have food.”

 

That gets laughs from Da’fen and Tir’alas and they sit up as he lays the basket in reach before moving around the bed to his own armor stand. As he begins divesting himself of his armor, he briefly considers putting on a pair of breeches while Tir’alas stays, then discards the thought; both men knew of Da’fen’s relationship with the other before meeting and there’s really no sense in changing habits now for modesty’s sake.

 

_ “Besides,” _ Cullen thinks as he turns and walks to the bed in his smalls,  _ “it’s not like these two are wearing anymore clothes than I am.” _

 

Indeed, Tir’alas was stripped down to his smalls and Da’fen was bare from the waist up and all the breeches would have done is irritate her skin as she tried to sleep.

 

Cullen slips into the bed as Da’fen passes out cheese and rolls to the three of them. They eat quietly together before exhaustion finally takes Da’fen and Cullen. They all curl under the covers, with Da’fen hugged snuggly between Cullen and Tir’alas.

 

Cullen doesn't wake until it's dark outside. He sits on the edge of the bed, groggily rubbing at his face. Da’fen snores quietly behind him and hides Tir’alas’ quiet breathing. Cullen gets up and stokes the fire up before moving to light a candle and squeezing into some clothes. 

 

He steps out on the balcony for air. While Da’fen had warded it against freezing, chill winds still grab at his shirt collar. Cullen startles when Tir’alas steps up beside him. 

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he mumbles quietly. They spend a few minutes looking up at the stars before Tir’alas speaks again.

 

“I didn’t know what I was expecting when I got here, but I don’t think it was this. I know I was certainly not expecting a letter from  _ you _ asking me to come. I thought Da’fen would eventually call me out here, not her new man.”

 

Cullen winces. “Sorry about that. It just kind of happened.”

 

Tir’alas shakes his head and smiles softly. “No, don’t apologize. I knew it might happen someday. And it’s nothing that we haven’t already agreed to before she met you. But now that you’re here, I’m feeling a bit lost as to what I’m supposed to do now. Da’fen is really all I have.”

 

“You could stay here. I know there aren’t strong ties between you two and the clan.”

 

Tir’alas quirks an eyebrow in Cullen’s direction. “You’d let me stay here? Not one but  _ two  _ men sharing comforts with the Inquisitor? Oh, I can see the scandal now.”

 

Cullen snorts. “You remind me of Sir Dorian, talking like that. Always manages to turn the simplest things into the most outrageous scandals and still make it sound like it’s more delicious than cake.”

 

Tir’alas snorts and shakes with quiet laughter and even Cullen smiles at the joke. 

 

“But really, how much of our relationship do you know about?” Tir’alas finally manages to ask curiously.

 

“I know about the babe, but not much else.”

 

Tir’alas nods solemnly. “Aye, losing the little one was hard on her. I couldn’t get her to eat for the longest time. Thankfully, Deshanna had seen women go through that before and knew how to drag her out of that slump.

 

“Da’fen and I were never really accepted into the clan. Da’fen was just different and as for me, well, a clan that values procreation doesn’t exactly celebrate men who prefer other men.”

 

Tir’alas’ smile turns wry. “We stuck with each other, and my preferences never seemed to bother her. But as we got older and we realized we’d be married off eventually, it got harder for me to take. I got scared I would get stuck with a woman that wouldn’t understand me like Da’fen did, even after the old keeper died and Deshanna was doing everything she could to make things right. So I asked Da’fen if I could try with her. Just to see what it was like, to see if I’d be able to actually do anything when I finally did get paired off. Not even Deshanna could stop that from happening. We made an agreement afterward, that we would stay together. If we found other people, that was that, and if not or it didn’t work out, we would always have a safe place to come back to. After we found out she was pregnant, we both decided we would just do it. Some things just don’t matter when you love someone.”

 

Tir’alas sighs and rubs the back of his neck and Cullen is quiet for a few moments, taking in the new information. He turned it over in his mind for several minutes before making his decision.

 

“Tir’alas, you mean the world to her. That’s how you got your name, right? Not even I’m going to change that. It’s why I asked you here. She needs you because you’re a part of her just like I am. You can stay here as long as you need.  _ We _ will be your safe space.”

 

Tir’alas’ eyes open wide. “But the scandal!” 

 

Cullen looks at him and smiles. “Some things just don’t matter when you love someone.”

 

Tir’alas opens his mouth, closes it, and blinks back tears. Finally, in a quiet voice, he asks, “Can I…?”

 

Culllen laughs at his silliness and opens an arm to pull the other man in for a tight hug. Tir’alas sniffles a few times before finally whispering, “Thank you.”


	49. Solas: Dance

Solas smiles as Da’fen swirls through the courtyard in young Loranil’s arms, squealing in mirth as he led her through the steps of the Dalish dance. A few minstrels had been gathered and though they were missing some notes on the traditional Dalish tune, they did a fine job of getting the music out boisterously. 

 

Loranil had put the whole shindig together after the ordeal of Halamshiral, claiming that real elvish dances would perk everyone up after the tense near disaster. He’s been right so far. Several members of the castle were also in the courtyard stamping feet and bouncing merrily to their newly learned dances. 

 

Solas watches wistfully from where he was propped on the wall; he’d have loved to join in the dances but he hesitates, unsure if Da’fen would accept his hand after he removed her vallaslin and then attempted to keep her at a distance. It had opened a yawning chasm of pain and loneliness that he regrets deeply, and he knew Da’fen was feeling the same, if her having trouble sleeping said anything. Even if he wasn’t joining her in her bed anymore, he still entered the Fade every night to keep demons from turning her dreams into nightmares.

 

Tir’alas appears at his side and leans on the wall as well, silent for a few moments. While Solas wasn’t quite certain on the terms with which Da’fen and Tir’alas held each other, he had  _ not _ been imagining the hesitant flirting going on between Tir’alas and Dorian. 

 

“What are you thinking about?” Tir’alas asks after several moments.

 

“I want to dance.” Solas says honestly with a shrug.

 

“Why don’t you?”

 

“I don’t know that she’d accept me.” Solas sighs. “I’ve made a massive mistake that I don’t know how to go about fixing.”

 

“You got that right,” Tir’alas says, but his gentle smile soothes Solas’ indignation. Somewhat. “But you know, all you’d have to do was ask and she’d have you back. You’re a good man, Solas, and I know you feel strongly for her. I don’t know why you try to hide it and push her away, but it’s obviously killing you to do it. So why not declare yourself?”

Solas breathes deep, and takes the time to actually admit something. “Because I have secrets that I’m not sure that could be overcome, and they also come with consequences.”

 

Tir’alas snorts softly. “You know about how she got her name, her scars, the fact that she uses blood magic, and most importantly, you know about  _ me.  _ Give her some credit. Declare yourself and I promise any secret you might have she will not judge you for.”

 

Solas tries to harden his resolve, but he knows Tir’alas speaks the truth. No horror that Solas could do would make her hate him. Before he’s even thought about it, his feet are carrying him into the center of the dancing. Loranil sees him and passes Da’fen to him. She is surprised, but she dimples at him all the same. 

 

Solas does not dance the jubilant celebration dance, but rather slows their steps and leads her into a more intimate set of steps. She falters at first, unsure of his movements, but Loranil knew exactly what Solas was doing and picked up the tune on the heavy drum. The slow, methodical beats are what finally bring recognition to Da’fen’s eyes, and her breath catches.

 

She has danced this dance before no doubt, with Tir’alas, so Solas knows she understands what he is saying. This is the dance of the beloved, something intimate for two bonded people to dance together. She lets him lead her smoothly around the courtyard, and with every step she relaxes into his arms.

 

It is a solemn, serious moment.

 

At least, until Dorian called for Tir’alas to dance with him at the scandal of a nearby dowager, and it sent Da’fen into giggles.


	50. Cullen: Dance

“Hey, come here.”

 

Cullen’s voice is firm and makes Da’fen look up from where she is stressing over reports at her desk. She’s been working for hours, and barely stopped for a bite of food. They are alone for the night; Tir’alas still crawls in their bed every once in a while but it seems like him and Iron Bull might be getting serious so more often than not he spends his nights above the tavern.

 

Da’fen stands slowly, back popping, and walks to where Cullen leans against the balcony doors. He takes her by the hand and opens the doors, leading her out on the balcony. It’s a summer night but deep in the mountains it’s still chilly. Cullen pulls her close and leads her in a slow dance across the balcony, just like he did that night at Halamshiral.

 

She sighs and melts into his embrace, stepping up onto the top of his feet and letting him carry her through the steps. He twirls her about for several minutes before slowing to a stop and kissing her softly. 

 

“You’ve done enough work today. Bed.”

 

She opens her mouth to protest but Cullen is already refuting her by slipping a hand under her shirt and massaging at tense muscles and the occasional knot. She grunts at the pressure but her eyes droop in pleasure. Cullen lifts her and carries her inside to the bed, where he coaxes her out of her boots and clothes, rubbing the sore leg where she’d been in her prosthetic all day.

 

A nudge here and there finally has her laid out on her stomach so he can rub her back gently. It’s not an easy task he’s set himself - she doesn’t sleep for almost half an hour - but her gentle snoring lets him know when he’s finally achieved his goal.

 

Quietly, he slips from the bed and straightens up the room, moving from picking up clothes on the floor to emptying the dirty water from her bath earlier, to sorting the reports she’d been poring over most of the day. 

 

Quiet steps on the stairs let him know Tir’alas is coming up, and he looks over at the other man with one eyebrow quirked questioningly. 

 

“The Charges have a job tomorrow that I forgot about.” He whispers. “Bull sent me back before it got too late.”

 

Cullen nods and continues cleaning the room as Tir’alas undresses and crawls into bed next to Da’fen. Cullen decides to leave a balcony door ajar for a breeze and snuffs all the candles before slipping into the bed himself. He gives Tir’alas a squeeze on the arm before reaching over him to lay his hand on Da’fen’s back.

 

It’s not what Cullen thought happiness would bring him, but he never can help sighing in contentment.


End file.
